


The Priest of Fenrir

by maximumsuckage



Series: Dreamscape [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: Eternally slumbering in the Empty, Gabriel dreams of Sam.  Sam who, with Dean and Jack, is investigating a case of a dead werewolf child across the country.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a oneshot, and then turned into a NaNoWriMo, and now I'm still rolling, so we'll see where it goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aite so turns out italics don't copy-paste over to this site, which is great to know after I copy paste over 80 pages that I gotta read thru individually to find the italicized thoughts and do something else to them so you humans don't think I just randomly switched to first person. i mean, you guys are probably smart enough to figure it out from context but it's gonna bug me now
> 
> UPdAtE: Headlines have been italicized and Chapter 5 was fixed, so there should not be any issues anymore lmfao

Sam had nightmares.

This was something he knew about himself and his brother, and he also knew there was no way to stop it, besides sleeping drugs. On a basic level, he knew investing in a prescription might be a good idea, but the idea of putting himself under artificially and being unaware scared him more than the nightmares, so he refrained. It was just the results of some undiagnosed PTSD, he told himself, something he could ignore. They weren’t real, after all. And he didn’t wake up screaming (like Dean did, sometimes), so he wasn’t disturbing anyone else, and he could generally put himself back to sleep after a brisk walk around whatever block they were staying on and a glass of icy water.

Normally there were faces from the past, Jess and Ruby and Bobby and Charlie… Castiel… there were demons and angels… Lucifer popped up all the time, with that stupid smug smirk like a cat looking at a mouse. They were blood-drenched images, disjointed, that left him breathless with tears in his eyes, unaware that he was sleeping and unable to help even as his loved ones screamed.

But this… this was different.

Sam stood in a darkened room. No… not a room. A cave, maybe, but a vast one, where darkness hid the boundaries. Underneath him was a floor, perhaps, but when he looked down he could see nothing, only a reflection of the darkness above him. It was as though there was nothing there. And yet, and yet he could see himself just fine, could see the details of his hands and legs looking down, like he was standing in a brightened room.

He was dreaming, he knew on a very fundamental level, but this was something he’d never dreamt before, or, if he had, he’d forgotten.

With lack of anything else to do, he began to walk. He was walking on a surface, perhaps, but if he looked, there was nothing there. He got the feeling he could just fall through the floor, like a paper thin sheet of ice, and that thought gave him a sense of vertigo so powerful that he swayed and fell to one knee. If he fell, who would catch him? Would he land, or simply keep falling?

_Woah, there._

It was a voice that was many and none, that was and wasn’t. It was the hiss of a snake, the bark of a wolf, the whisper of death, and yet was a laugh and a cry and a world-weariness that encompassed the ideas of something very, very old.

Sam looked up, and had to look back down, for now he was looking at something vast, and island of fire and light in the darkness of this nothing-world, something, that, when he looked through eyes shielded by his hands, was slowly breathing. A great chest rose and fell so slowly it could have been his imagination, and the barest impression of ribs told Sam this was something vast and alive.

He stumbled back a few steps from the being, and then looked again. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the light now, which was dimmer than it should have been, Sam decided. Great wings curled around the body, which itself was curled into itself. He could see the tips of ears that suggested something canine in the face, but the snout and eyes were tucked under a wing. A great paw was stretched towards Sam, the only limb that stuck out, and feathers fine as hair glimmered in dull shades of gold all over the foot. A forked tail, scaled in gold leaf and feathered at the end, curled around the body, resting over the paw.

Sam tried to circle the body, but it was too vast, too convoluted and curled up like an animal sleeping for him to make out details. There were oddities about it, extra limbs that bent and folded underneath, bits that shimmered and vanished and reformed, odd slits reminiscent of closed eyelids that seemed to reappear in different places. It hurt Sam’s eyes, and he had to look away every few minutes.

He should have been afraid. This was something purely inhuman, so unnatural, that it should have made his stomach turn, and yet he only felt… nothing.

_Samuel William Winchester._

It was the voice again, and this time, Sam thought it came from the giant, slumbering beast, and yet it still didn’t move. Except-

Near the neck, there was a movement, and the head of a golden serpent appeared, poking its nose out from under another wing. It blinked blearily at Sam, shook itself a moment, resting atop the wolf ears, which flicked in irritation.

Sam decided that he should run, except now his feet were stuck in place, like now his brain remembered that he was dreaming, and froze him.

“That’s me,” he said, and his voice was impossibly tiny next to the slumbering form, which he decided was a good thing. Though he felt no fear, he had a sense that he should, and waking the beast wholly was definitely a bad idea. Probably something Dean would do.

The snake slithered, clumsy and drowsy, closer to him. Different parts of the creature shimmered, wings moved like something underneath was moving them. It seemed the golden serpent was wrapped around the wolfish beast, and yet Sam had no doubt that it was all one creature, with the certainty that was granted only by a dream.

It paused, head near Sam, golden eyes drifting shut again, and then shook itself. _I am dreaming._

Sam frowned. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m the one dreaming here.”

_No, no, I’m definitely asleep here. It’s hard… Look, I’m trying, okay. Shut up._

Shocked at being told to shut up by an eldritch thing big as an island, Sam shut up. The serpent slithered closer, and Sam could see that there were horns of feathers on its head, great intelligence in those golden eyes. But something was wrong- the scales around its eyes were warped, twisted, discolored. Burned. The marring burned Sam’s eyes as well, and he had to look away.

Now it was close enough to smell, though there was still a distance of half a football field between them, which seemed impossibly small next to the girth of the being. It was the smell of ozone, the same acrid aroma that hung in the air each time an angel took off or landed, but it was also the smell of snow on a sunny winter day, of a burnt marshmallow at a campfire surrounded by friends, of metal and blood on the battlefield. It was a smell that simultaneously brought Sam back to childhood nights with Dean, and made him want to run as fast and far away as possible.

So he tried, but no matter how much his head screamed, his legs wouldn’t move. The closest he came to was falling to his knees.

The snake paused, still struggling to stay awake, and the visible wolf ears flicked in irritation. The snake shook itself again, and said, _Wait… don’t be afraid._

Sam stared at the ground, at the emptiness far below him.

_Don’t be afraid,_ the snake said, and this time the wolf stirred, though it didn’t open its eyes. _For I bring you tidings of great joy… fuck, I forgot the lines, but you get the memo._

Sam did not get the memo. Sam remained where he was kneeling, brain screaming to run but body disregarding. Dream physics kept him glued where he was, under the snake. Adrenaline swam through his blood and made lights flash in front of his eyes and his heart pound.

_C’mon, Dream-Sammy, don’t be like that. That’s so human._ There was a pleading to the voice, but also a tone of mocking, that seemed to only come from the feelings in Sam’s head. _You know me. I mean, granted, you probably hate me, but hey, we had some good times, didn’t we?_

“I don’t know you.” Sam’s voice came through clenched teeth, addressed to the ground. He could not look up. He could not bear the horrible scars on the snake’s face. “I’ve never met you. I would have remembered something…” As great? As terrible? He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to offend the beast, or wake it completely.

There was silence, and a general emotion hung in the air… something deep, a sadness that brought tears to Sam’s eyes. _That’s cool. Whatever. I get. Humans today aren’t what they used to be._

Sam remained silent, mouth open, trying to get air into his lungs. This was too much. This was so far over his head that he couldn’t comprehend it…

_This dream sucks. I liked the ones with the hot chicks and the candy. Let’s go back to that one._

Something clicked. A pathway in Sam’s brain triggered.

_No, like, this seriously blows. I mean, you’re hot and all, but if you’re just gonna cower in fear…_ The snake drifted back towards the body, eyes already closing. Sam felt the world tilt. The light began to fade. The being was dreaming him, and it was going into deeper sleep, and he was disintegrating. Already, he could feel the heaviness of blankets as he returned to his own body…

“Gabriel.”

The empty darkness shot back into technicolor darkness, and now both the snake and the wolf and something that had been buried under a wing and was vaguely human shaped but had too many eyes were looking at him. It was bright, and Sam had to blink away tears of pain, but he didn’t break eye contact. Silence hung in between them, and then the human-esque head buried itself under a wing again, back to sleep, while the wolf struggled to keep its gold eyes open.

_Wow, that only took you, like, a thousand years._ The not-voice was mocking.

“It is you.” Sam bit his tongue, and stood. His legs were still wobbly, but-

_Mmf, get back on your knees._

And it was such a suggestive, lewd statement, accompanied by the raise of scarred, snakey-eyebrows, that there was no way that it wasn’t the Trickster.

Feeling a bit bolder, Sam took a few steps closer. “This is your true form. You, as an archangel.”

The snake was silent, and wings curled tighter around its body, looking almost embarrassed. _Feels naked without a meat suit, after this long._

There was a shimmer, and the being vanished, replaced by a smaller, golden eyed man who kept rubbing his eyes, like he was going to fall asleep where he stood. The sudden empty space hit Sam’s head like a bag of bricks and he swayed, but didn’t fall this time. “Hey, kiddo,” the man said, tilting his head as he tried to focus on Sam’s face. “Welcome to my final resting place.”

“Gabriel, I…” Sam didn’t know what he meant to say. He was sorry? He was still pissed? “You’re dead,” he finally said.

Gabriel shrugged. “Angel blade’ll do that to a guy.”

Sam hesitated again, not sure. He got the sense that they didn’t have much time- Gabriel was rubbing his face, trying to stay alert, and Sam’s dream sense told him that if the archangel fell asleep again, he would vanish, back to the world of the living.

“Thanks,” he finally decided on. “For fighting your brother for us. It helped… I mean, he’s back now, and now he’s gone again, but we have his kid-”

“His kid?” That jerked Gabriel more awake. The darkness around Sam became more vivid as Gabriel took greater control over the dream. “There’s a Nephilim?” He swayed slightly, and shook his head. “I need… I should help him…” His voice trailed off, and he looked like he was about to faint, eyes going unfocused. Then he shook himself again. “Hey, look… kid needs to learn his powers. Um… look for Hel. She’ll help.” He swayed again, stumbling, and caught Sam’s arms for support.

Sam looked down at the archangel, who was now leaning against his chest, eyes closed. The darkness seemed to fade, and if Sam squinted, he could see the details of his bedroom. “Gabriel! Who is that?”

Gabriel gave him a dull-eyed look. “Not Gabriel. Loki.” He swayed, eyes closing again, and then gestured at Sam to lean down, like he was about to whisper a secret.

Sam obeyed, and, with a sudden outburst of strength, Gabriel tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair and pulled him down more, kissing his mouth hard and hungry, a kiss of teeth and tongue that made Sam gasp in surprise.

He woke up, the imprint of a mouth still on his, and lay staring at the ceiling, gasping. And then he got up, threw on a sweatshirt, and hastened to the library, keywords bouncing in his mind. Gabriel. Loki. Hell- or Hel, with one L.

A death goddess. Daughter of Loki.

 

Art by the absolutely amazing @scrollingkingfisher 


	2. Chapter 2

“So lemme get this straight.” Dean wrapped his fingers around the coffee mug as he looked down at the book Sam had dropped in front of him. “You have a dream about our old dead buddy the Trickster, only he’s a giant crazy monster, and he tells you some crap and sends you on a quest to find his freaky death goddess daughter to be the Jedi Master to your freaky angel padawan?”

Sam let out a slow breath. “No, Dean. I mean, yeah, but you’re ignoring the point here. Jack isn’t the first archangel offspring. It makes sense… we knew Gabe was Loki. I just never realized he was Loki. Like, the actual god. He had a whole life outside of Heaven…” He trailed off, looking down at the book, not for the first time wondering at how little they actually knew. “And he wasn’t a giant crazy monster. He was an archangel. Without the vessel.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand and sipped his coffee. “Whatever. So monster Gabe wants you to find his freaky death goddess daughter. And what, exactly? We don’t exactly have a great record with pagan gods.”

“Yeah, but Dean, this could be an opportunity.” This was pointless. They were going in circles, still, like they had been for forty minutes already. “I know that it’s a risk, but-”

“But nothing.” Dean gestured with the mug of coffee. “We’ve already dealt with Death himself. We’re not getting the attention of one of his death god lackeys too. Mr. Miyagi the kid yourself, fine. But if we get her attention and she gets pissed…”

“Then we take her out too.” Sam stood. “We’ve taken out stronger things than-”

“Than an archangel Nephilim? An archangel Nephilim who’s had thousands of years to hone her powers?” Dean raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. “Look, I get it. The kid’s not all bad. Might grow up to be a superhero. Who knows? But we do know that a goddess named Hell is not someone we want to tussle with.”

“Hel with one L, not two.” Sam pointed. “Or Hela, in this translation.”

“Hela then.” Dean paused. “Wait, wasn’t that the bad guy in that new Thor movie?”

“Well-”

“That settles it. No. If she scares Thor, then I don’t want to deal with it. Wherever she’s holed up, she can stay there.” He downed the rest of his coffee, made a face at the dregs, and got up. “Come on. We’ve got a werewolf to catch.” Without letting Sam have time for another word, he left the kitchen, heading back towards his own room.

“I have a cousin?”

Sam jumped at the voice. Jack definitely shared that little trait with Castiel. He glanced at the direction Dean had vanished in, and sighed. He had no idea how long Jack had been listening, and lying would only upset him. “We’re not sure,” he decided on, sitting down and pushing the book towards him. “I had a dream about Gabriel- your uncle- and he told me to look for this goddess, who, according to the lore, is his oldest daughter.”

Jack pulled the book closer and studied it, his eyebrows creased together. “Gabriel,” he said slowly. “He was in the Bible. He told Elizabeth and Mary that they were pregnant. He is good.” He glanced up at Sam, worried. “Right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was good.” Sam decided that they didn’t need to get into the semantics of good when it involved the Trickster. He’d come over to their side in the end; right now, that was what mattered.

“Was?” Jack caught the past tense, head tilting in that painfully familiar way.

“Lucifer killed him.” He decided not to sugar-coat it, just ripping off the metaphorical Band-Aid. “Gabriel was stalling so we could save people. He knew he was going to be killed.” He paused, figuring somebody didn’t go through the work of filming a pornographic suicide note if they didn’t know they were going to die. “He loved your father to the end, I think. He attacked Lucifer, but now that I think about it, I don’t think he could have killed him, even if he had the ability to.”

Jack looked back down at the book, considering the information, filing it away in what he knew of the world. “But, he had children. This goddess is my cousin.” He touched the picture, running his finger down the sketch. One side of her was a young lady, lovely if stern, while the other side was a garish image of rot and desiccation. That didn’t seem to bother Jack, whose impression of the world was still fresh and new.

It had, however, bothered Dean, who, when Sam had first set the book down, made a comment along the lines of, “this zombie freak your new girlfriend?”

“We don’t know that for sure yet,” Sam was quick to point out. “Gabriel didn’t give me anymore information…” Because he was too busy trying to bite my lips off, but Dean and Jack don’t need to know that and why the hell was he doing that anyways I’m not into him I’m straight straighter than Dean anyways like maybe we were friends at the end but only barely and… “and we don’t even know if she’s alive, or good or evil, or if she’s even his daughter. Sometimes the lore gets mixed up over time, and things aren’t usually that accurate.”

Jack tilted his head. “But it says here that she was.”

“Yeah, but that was written by humans.” Sam settled in for a lecture on mythology, which could either go very smoothly or would throw Jack into a mental tailspin. “A lot of the lore we have is based on old stories. A long time ago, they were just told word of mouth. Like… like I’m telling you right now. And to keep people’s interests, storytellers would exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate. A small lie. To make it bigger than it really is.”

Sam made a small agreeing gesture in his direction, not sure if Jack had read the dictionary or if Dean had covered that particular lesson. Probably Dean, exaggerating away all the carbs he was drinking to hide the still-raw grief. “So if every storyteller exaggerates the story a little bit, and then the inflated version gets written down…”

“It might be completely different from the truth?” Jack looked up at Sam, hopeful, and Sam found himself smiling.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Jack nodded and looked down at the picture again, considering it through this new lens. “But Gabriel is my uncle. That’s not exaggerated. And he does know her, because he told you to find her in a dream.” He looked up at Sam, hopeful. “How hard would it be to find her?”

“Well, I don’t know, and Dean’s scared of her. He doesn’t want us to find her and then it turn out that she’s the bad guy.”

“Why would my uncle be friends with a bad guy?”

Sam really did not want to get into the gray morals that seemed to permeate Gabriel’s pagan lifestyle, and thankfully, he was saved by Dean’s walking in. “Case,” he said pointedly. “Wolf clan. New York.” He looked over at the book, then pointed at the image. “Bad guy,” he said to Jack, like that settled it. “You guys ready to go?”

Jack nodded, hopping up, eager to please Dean. “Yes. I had my bag packed last night. And I didn’t forget extra underwear and socks this time.”

Dean frowned. “Extra? You had extra last time.”

Jack grinned, pleased. “Yes, for myself. But I packed for you both as well. When you wear the same pair of socks every day, it gets-”

“We get it.” Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the car.

Sam, for lack of a better response, patted Jack on the shoulder. “Thanks, bud. What would we do without you?”

“Probably stink,” he said, dead serious, and followed Dean, a spring in his step at being useful to his guardians, like a puppy. A wolf puppy, Sam reminded himself, one that was loyal, but could bite.

 

_A week previous_

Fairpoint, New York, was a pleasant little tourist trap in the Adirondacks, somewhere beyond Old Forge. A main road led visitors to a plethora of family owned motels and campgrounds, winding through little shops owned by kindly retired folk or kids in their twenties irritated at being forced to take over the family business. A lake nearby allowed for swimming or sailing, though it was quiet now that the season was beginning to turn. This time of year, the draw was the beautiful shades of red and yellow and gold that graced the ancient trees, and hiking trails winding through the surrounding mountains allowed tourists the opportunity ample opportunities to soak in the autumn aesthetic.

The only issue was the werewolves. Those townsfolk who had lived there for more than a generation knew about them- the clan out in the woods, who feasted on deer and moose and bear and avoided civilization like the plague. That was the original purpose of the village, after all. Keep the werewolves in the wilderness, away from the more human haunts. For a long while, the wolves had been quiet, and only the occasional foray into town for medicine or booze by one of their runners told the old folk that they were still active.

But that had all changed when a child turned up dead.

He was not one of Fairpoint’s- he was branded by the mark of the wolves, a symbol like four claw marks slashing the shoulder, and he was thin and gaunt, buried in a shallow grave that was unearthed by the excessive rains. It would have been ignored by the local cops, who, as a rule, kept only to Fairpoint business, except for the fact that it was a clear murder: his heart had been ripped from his chest cavity. The organ was missing.

It had to be a wolf, because no fox or coyote or bear would simply take the heart and run, and besides, attacks by wild predators were excessively rare, saved generally for foolhardy hunters (real hunters, with deer and stuff- they had no idea about Winchester-type hunters) who got between Mom-bear and cub. The thinness was a problem as well- though many wild populations were thinning, white-tailed deer refused to stop breeding, and their population boom allowed not only food for ticks, but for the wolves as well. Any children glimpsed traipsing through the woods were well-fed, bordering on chubby if not for all the running and playing they did, so a dead child whose ribs were clearly visible?

That was foul play, for sure.

So, it was with a great deal of nerves that Sheriff Harry Baldwin found himself hiking through the woods, sweating despite the autumnal chill, cop car left behind at the deepest hunting cabin he could drive to. His twelve-gauge was slung over his shoulder, heavy now that he had to hike with it, and shot shells clinked in the pockets of his jacket. The gun was only for protection from bears though. He didn’t fear the wolves. His family had been there for ages, and he had the feeling there had been a bit of interbreeding- every time the full moon rolled around, he felt peckish for bloody burgers. It was a craving he didn’t share with anybody, but a very real craving nonetheless, and he liked to imagine the wolf blood in him (even if it was imaginary) made him a better cop.

There was a stitch in his side by the time he heard a howl that clearly came from a human throat and not a coyote, and he leaned against a tree, panting. “Hey,” he called out to the trees, knowing one of the wolves was there, even if he couldn’t see them. “It’s me. Sheriff Baldwin. I need to talk to Alpha Melissa.“

A wolf warrior stepped out. She was a pretty girl, curvy with big eyes and an easy smile, wearing a deerskin jacket over a Doctor Who t-shirt and skinny jeans. “Officer Baldwin! Hi! If we knew you were coming, we would have sent a truck out for you. What’s up?” Before he had time to respond, she darted off, and then returned with a bottle of water that she offered out.

He took it gratefully, draining it in a few moments, and then wiped his mouth. “I’m here on business, Charlotte. I need to talk to Melissa.”

Charlotte nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call a ride to town. Seriously, next time you need to come out here, just call one of us.”

A few minutes later, Harry was on the back of an ATV, clinging desperately to the waist of Travis, another wolf warrior who was a few ranks higher than Charlotte. Harry wasn’t exactly sure how the ranking worked here, as the wolves were an independent nation it seemed, yet still had access to ATVs and Poland Spring and, apparently, Doctor Who. Harry never asked. He figured, that was their business and his business was Fairpoint.

The town itself blended into the surrounding forest, log cabins trailing wood smoke into the sky. A group of barefoot kids were playing soccer in a clearing that served as the town square, laughing and occasionally snarling at each other with teeth too long and sharp for a normal child’s mouth. Occasionally, there would be a splash of blood on the hard-packed earthen ground, but that only drew more laughter. Several deer were hanging from a pole, blood dripping into buckets on the ground. Their glassy eyes seemed to watch Harry as he dismounted the ATV, waiting for the warrior to lead him to the pack leader.

“Wait here,” Travis said sharply, and disappeared into the largest of the cabins.

Harry obeyed, but it was with a frown. He had spoken to Melissa many times. She was older, a calm leader, giving off the vibe of a Victorian era queen rather than a werewolf pack leader roughing it in the woods. Never had she kept him waiting. When he became sheriff, she had arrived in Fairpoint for the ceremony herself, congratulating him personally, and after that they had struck up a professional relationship that seemed to border on more than friendly (or at least, so Harry hoped. He may have had a teensy crush on the pack leader).

But never before had he been commanded to wait for an audience.

One of the children was on the ground, crying. Somebody had yanked one of her pigtails too hard, and now a few of the boys were jeering at her. Harry took a step closer to break it up, but then the smallest of the girls snarled as she intervened first, her face twisting, hackles raising, hands twisting and breaking into claws with an audible snapping of bones. The boys raised a laugh at her as well, but then the beast-child leapt forward, throwing the biggest boy to the ground with a thump. He tried to change as well, but she slashed him across the face, and he stayed down.

Harry stood, frozen, watching as the smallest hopped off the largest and walked over to the bullied girl to pull her to her feet. The boy on the ground sat up, the scratches on his face already healing, and snarled at her, but it was weak and small and ignored. The girl was alpha, and both knew it.

“I’m goalie!” she declared, human again, sprinting towards the two sticks that comprised the goal. With that, the fight was forgotten, and the game was back on.

“Sheriff Baldwin?”

Harry turned away from the kids to the familiar voice of Melissa, the pack leader. Middle aged, with a few scars across her face suggesting old triumphs, she exuded the aura of a warrior, despite her torn jeans and sky-blue sweater. Harry always felt a little subpar next to her, aware that maybe he should put in some time at the gym and maybe avoid the pastries Sally Parr, the town administrator, brought in every morning. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

She gave him a thin-lipped smile and gestured for him to come inside. He followed, grateful to get off his aching feet.

“Whiskey?” she asked once he had been seated in front of her desk, which was little more than a homemade table.

He waved it off. “I’m on the clock. I’m here to talk about a murder. A child, about ten, was found a few miles outside of town by a hunter. Poor kid was starving before he died. Heart ripped out of the body. Coroner hasn’t told us whether it was taken out before or after he passed.”

Melissa’s brow creased as she turned back to the desk, a small glass of whiskey in her own hands. That was new. Harry had never seen her touch a drop of alcohol in all the time that he knew her. Although, granted, it was more phone conversations than anything else.

“Shit,” she said, and all hope that she didn’t know about the murder flew from Harry’s mind. He hoped they weren’t going dark. He had no idea what they were supposed to do if the wolves went dark. That was on him, but half of Fairpoint didn’t even know about the wolves, so how would they fight-

Melissa drained the whiskey like it was water. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” she murmured, gazing at the golden drops clinging to the side of the empty glass. “I prayed that it wouldn’t come to this.”

“Come to what?” Harry leaned forward. “Melissa, if any of your guys did this, you know I can’t protect you. This whole settlement is already illegal. If there’s murder too…”

She stood, slamming fingers that broke and twisted into claws into the wood of the table. Splinters of wood flew to the floor. “They are not my guys. Not anymore.”

“Mel?” He tested out the nickname cautiously. “Something’s going on. Tell me what’s going on so we can prevent anyone else from turning up dead.”

Now her teeth were elongating, and her voice dropped to a growl that resonated within Harry’s chest. “A strange wolf came. He corrupted some of our youth- now they wish to summon him.”

“Him who?” Harry sat back a little, trying to remain calm in the face of the half changed alpha in front of him. “Mel, calm down, okay? We’re friends here. I want to help.”

She glared at him, normal cocoa-brown eyes now feral yellow, and then took a breath. “Him,” she repeated, forcing her voice back to its normal register. “The original Wolf. Fenrir himself.”


	3. Chapter 3

_A solid week or so later_

Sam had been tied up on a good many occasions. Not one of them were good, but this time was at least better than the time with Becky. He had a feeling that Gabriel would have a sexually themed quip for a moment like this, which wasn’t exactly a helpful thought, as it didn’t give him a real plan on how to get out of this. He had no doubt that he would get out of this, because they always did, and even if he died for real this time, he had a sneaking suspicion that he would wake up in his own bed a few days later. Also why was he thinking about Gabriel, because Gabriel was dead and no real help to this case. Even if the archangel were alive, he probably wouldn’t be a big help. So really, he should collect his thoughts, blast through the haze of the concussion that was caused by the throbbing lump on the back of his head, and bust his way out of these ropes.

Where were Jack and Dean? Sam blinked blearily at his surroundings as he tried to piece together what had happened. Black was flickering at the edge of his vision, threatening to send him back under, and his thoughts felt hazy and disjointed. He saw, through his spotty vision, someone else tied up across the clearing, but he didn’t think it was Dean. That man was stockier than Dean, shorter and wider. Not Dean.

Sam continued scanning the clearing. There was a bonfire in the center. Some of the warmth reached him. It was pleasant against the night chill and Sam strained towards it. The ropes creaked at the movement, but held, stinging against his wrists. Sam glanced down, irritated with the pain, and realized that they’d been rubbed raw under the ropes. He must have been struggling, but he couldn’t remember.

That was alarming. Concussion, spotty memory… Sam closed his eyes and slumped against the ropes, exhausted as he considered the circumstances. He needed to sleep, he decided. That would help him.

Somebody was chanting. Sam opened one eye and glared in the direction of the chanter. The words were harsh, more barks and snarls than actual words, and Sam wanted him to shut up so he could take a nap and clear his head. The warmth of the fire seemed to be responding to the words though, the chill of night falling away. It felt good for a moment, until Sam remembered why they were there. No. It was not good.

He yanked against the ropes, but the knots held fast. His fingers were wet- he realized with some worry that it was blood from his raw wrists, dripping down his palms. Yanking again only worsened the wounds, and he groaned and slumped, looking towards the fire, which was growing brighter and brighter.

Now there was a shadow in the center, a dark spot surrounded by white light. It grew bigger and bigger, as though coming closer from a great distance, and Sam shouted out a warning. Whatever was coming, it was not good, and the more he yanked at the ropes, the tighter they seemed to become. Sam shouted again, and this time somebody responded. A boy walked over, and hit him.

He slumped, oblivious.

 

_A week and a few days earlier, aka, before the events of the second half of chapter 2_

Three boys had abandoned the pack in favor of this new wolf. Their names were Charlie, Darren, and Brent. The three weren’t exactly beloved amidst the pack. They chaffed against rules, went too vicious against animals, desired free reign of the forest. Them being teenagers, their tendencies were generally ignored by the adults, who would turn a worried eye in their direction but generally hope that someday a nice girl would tame them.

Apparently, a nice girl had not gotten there in time, especially considering that there were only four eligible young women their age. Two were dating other wolves, one was dating a boy from Fairpoint. The other was Charlotte, who had already decided that she was gunning for Alpha, though she was not yet twenty. The issue with that was that it had long been a rule that Alpha, whether male or female, could not have a family, as they were supposed to treat the pack as their children- naturally, the rule had been broken multiple times (unbeknownst to anybody beside the midwife and Melissa herself, the aggressive little girl Harry had witnessed earlier was actually Melissa’s illegitimate daughter, though that has nothing to do with this particular case).

Nobody had recognized the strange wolf. It wasn’t an oddity to see strangers coming through town. As one of the few purely werewolf settlements that remained, Fairpoint’s werewolves saw a lot of visitors coming through on vacation, to live with them a few days, hunt the multitudes of deer in the woods, and feel like a real wolf for a bit before returning to their dull lives in the cities. So when he showed up, all dark hair and charismatic smile, nobody had said anything, and in fact, a few had invited him on a hunt.

He had taken an interest in Charlie, Darren, and Brent, more than anybody else. He convinced them to take him out hunting after dark (against the rules, though that didn’t stop them). Their parents didn’t take much of an interest, though Melissa had confronted them when they came back in the next morning. They had laughed, and then, when she pushed, promised not to do it again. She hadn’t yelled at the stranger. He was a visitor, not one of her pack.

Melissa hadn’t worried too much about it. She was used to the boys being troublemakers, and she fully expected them to grow out of it when they got older.

It was a teensy bit later that she became worried.

The stranger had come to her home, stormed into her office, and fallen to his knees in front of her while she looked on in surprise.

“Melissa, sweet alpha Melissa,” the man had said. He was halfway through the Change, bones cracking with every movement, and his ears were pressed back in a gesture of submission. “I have looked upon your town, and I have seen an image of paradise.”

This had never happened before, and Melissa had found herself momentarily floored. “Thank you,” she said with a smile, reaching down to pull him back to his feet. She wondered if he was drunk, though she didn’t smell any alcohol. It was odd. She could feel his bones shifting under his skin as she pulled him up. “I’m happy you like our little home. Feel free to stay as long as you want.” She paused. “We also have coupons for Water Safari tickets, if you’re interested in seeing more of the area.”

“Water Safari?” He gave her a confused look.

“It’s a water amusement park nearby- never mind. Are you okay? Do you need me to call somebody for you?”

“There is only one I need to call,” he said, ignoring the bit about the coupons. “You, alpha Melissa, must call upon the one true Alpha.”

She had been thrown off by the bowing, but now she was even more off balance. One true Alpha? All she could think of was the president, maybe, but she didn’t plan on calling any politicians and letting them know that there was a group of part-humans who weren’t paying taxes. “Maybe you want to head to bed, sir. I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“No!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “This is the perfect place, don’t you see? We can make this his new stronghold. A utopia for the wolves, run by our god.”

“I’m agnostic,” Melissa said doubtfully. “I used to be Catholic, but after the aborted Apocalypse a few years ago…”

“Not God,” he said, throwing a hand upwards. “Our god. The original wolf! Fenrir himself!”

Melissa stared at him for a moment, opened her mouth, closed it, and then set her chin on top of her fingers, slowly lowering them to point at him. “You make a valid point,” she said, not at all sure how to deal with a religious zealot worshipping a god who either didn’t exist, or hadn’t shown his face in a very long time. “But you might want to choose a different place for your utopia. We’re quite alright how we are here.”

“No. This is the chosen land.” He swept his hands out wide. Claws flashed on the ends of his twisted fingers. “I can feel it… it is holy here. Untouched by human hands. This is the land of the wolves.”

“Let me have someone escort you to your room,” Melissa said, wondering why he was spewing this to her instead of sleeping off whatever he’d been drinking.

“No!” He threw his arms wide and let out a howl that shook her to her very bones. His body twisted and cracked, and then there was a wolf standing before her, all fangs and claws and hateful yellow eyes. “This is the holy land,” he said, and his voice was the snarl of an animal warped into human speech. “I will show you the light. Fenrir will come, and you will either bow before him, or feel his holy teeth in your neck.”

And then he leapt from the room, letting out another bloodcurdling howl. It was answered, and Melissa realized with a chill deep in her bones that the answered howls were their three young men, filled with lust for a future of blood.

 

_A week and a few days later, aka, the lead-up to Sam being bound and concussed at the beginning of this chapter_

The Impala rolled into town as it had a thousand other little towns a thousand times before. Sam was antsy in the passenger seat- Dean had promised a hundred miles before that they would stop at the next gas station for a bathroom break, and then he seemed to take great glee in watching Sam squirm each time they passed a rest stop. The only thing that kept Sam from slugging Dean across the mouth was the fact that Dean’s smile at his misery was the first time Sam had seen Dean smile since Castiel, and, uncomfortable as he was, he didn’t want to ruin it.

Although, as they drove past the tourist shops of Fairpoint, he was starting to consider Dean’s slow mental recovery to be second to his more pressing return.

“The leaves here are beautiful,” Jack said, for the thousandth time since they’d entered the mountains. The back window was open, and he was leaning out like a dog, amazed by the height and color and density of the mountain forest after the open spaces of the Midwest. “Can we go into the forest? I want to see a bear. I read that there were bears here.”

“We’re not here for sightseeing,” Dean grumped back at him, and glanced at Sam. “Any of these hotels get good reviews?”

“I’m a little distracted to look right now, Dean.” Sam shot him a glare.

Dean shrugged. “Hey man, I told you not to get that iced mocha skim white girl pumpkin crap latte at our last stop.”

“I got a small cup of black coffee because it was free if you bought ten gallons of gas,” Sam said through his teeth. “Just pick a place, man.”

Dean chuckled at his pain again and pulled into the first parking lot they came to. Sam was out of the car before he’d even put it in park, vanishing into the office building. Jack watched him go, not quite sure what was funny about the situation, and looked at Dean again. “I was thinking… on a lot of these cases, you make me stay in the motel room for a lot of it. What if you give me a key so I can go out and walk on the path? I saw a sign for a path, and I want to see the bears.” He tilted his head hopefully, not wanting to upset Dean, but also, bears. “I’ll stay on the path. I promise.”

Dean glanced back at him, an eyebrow quirked up. “Kid, bears will eat you alive.” He fumbled around for his wallet and then got out of the car.

Jack was right there. Dean jumped, then rolled his eyes and started for the office, boots crunching on the gravel lot.

“What if I stay a far enough distance from them that I have enough time to run?” he asked, head still tilted. “I wouldn’t try to touch one. They are wild animals, and wild animals do not like people.” He glanced away as he said it, repeating something Sam had said, when Jack had gone running after a fox he’d seen rummaging around by the bunker.

The odd thing had been that the fox had not been afraid, Jack thought. In fact, the fox had trotted up and started coiling about his legs like a cat, and its tail wagged when Jack had delightedly reached down to pet it. It had only gotten angry when Sam walked outside, nipping Jack’s hand and bolting away. The bite had healed instantly, but it had still been enough to make Sam nervous.

“No bears,” Dean repeated, and pushed open the door to the office, where Sam was already waiting, looking more relaxed than he had before.

They booked a room with two beds and a pullout couch, and it was a few minutes later that Jack was left alone in the room with a coloring book, a box of crayons, and the TV guide while Sam and Dean went out to talk to the man who had called them.

Sheriff Baldwin may have had no idea what a ghost hunter was, but one of the younger cops on the force had an uncle who dabbled in ghost busting on the side. When he’d heard rumors of werewolves, he’d shot his uncle a text. The uncle couldn’t make it out, as he had a real job that he couldn’t take two weeks off of, but he’d given his nephew a list of names and phone numbers that may have been able to help. The first three hadn’t answered. A man had answered the fourth one, sobbing, to say that his wife had died taking out a wendigo, whatever that was. The fifth one had gotten a gruff answer of, “Winchester.”

The nephew had explained, feeling like a complete idiot (werewolves, seriously?) what had happened to the terrifying and stern silence on the other end of the line. Then he’d given an address and his name (Marty Grimes). The man on the line had grunted, and there was the sound of a pen scratching down the information, and then he said, “We’ll be there,” and hung up.

Now, Marty found himself feeling very skinny and small and pathetic as he looked up at the two men who were standing in the doorway of the police station, flashing fed badges and walking over to his desk. Which was a table. Marty was too new for a desk, but they had given him a card table to put his laptop on when he was there. He hoped those two badass looking strangers weren’t the ones he had called in, but, sure enough, they were making a beeline for his table.

“Officer Grimes?” The shorter of the two (who was still freaky tall and ruggedly handsome and probably jacked under that suit) eyeballed him, no doubt judging his stick arms. “We’re here for your case.”

“Yeah. Um, let’s talk out there.” He gestured for the hallway.

Marty had no idea that most of the force knew that there were wolves in the woods. He had graduated the academy barely six months before, and if one looked at him, one would assume he was still sixteen (he prayed every day that puberty would happen to him overnight). This town had been the first place to offer a job, so he’d moved from the hive of scum and villainy that was the tiny city he’d grown up in to the fresh air of the Adirondacks, excited to make a difference. He’d immediately regretted the move, as the only place more boring than his hometown was Fairpoint, but now he had to wait a few years before he tried to leave, so he’d have some professional experience under his belt. His outsider status, combined with being a rookie, meant that little plot points like a werewolf town were lost to him.

Sam and Dean towered over him, intimidating behemoths of men, muscled and rugged heroes that belonged in the distant past of myth and legend. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried not to be incredibly attracted to both of them, because these two men were most definitely straight, probably screwing three scantily clad women a day each, although, he was skinny enough, that maybe they wouldn’t mind-

He shook his head, reminding himself that these two beautiful creatures were here about werewolves and not for him, though he had been the one to call.

“Okay… I know this sounds crazy,” he started, glancing towards the main area of the precinct to make sure nobody else was going to walk out and judge him. “But there was a kid who was found dead, and… I don’t know… his heart was ripped out, but not like an animal. More like…” He hesitated. It sounded so stupid when said out loud.

“Werewolf.” Sam finished the sentence for him, nodding. Dean may have been the one to answer the phone, but he’d filled Sam in quickly. “Good you called us. Do you have any clue who it might be?”

“…where the hell- Oh, Grimes, what’re you doing with the feds?” Harry stepped out into the hall, casting a suspicious look towards Sam and Dean. He’d just heard that the government got involved, because apparently nobody liked to tell him anything. If the FBI got wind of Melissa’s settlement, then there would be hell to pay from everybody, and the wolves would have to either fight or disperse, neither of which were viable options.

“Sheriff.” Sam stepped forward first, holding out his badge. “We’re here about the child’s murder.”

Harry eyeballed the badge, and then frowned. “You’re not feds.”

Marty, of course, already knew that, but Sam and Dean exchange a look quick as a blink before looking back at the sheriff. “What makes you say that?” Dean’s eyes narrowed, ready for a fight.

“They just updated their badges,” Harry said, looking between them. “A new stamp, or something like that. Makes them harder to forge.”

“Heh.” Dean elbowed Sam. “Guess they missed us, Agent Speight. Can’t believe they did it again.”

“Like I said when we came in, this is Agent Collins, and I’m Agent Speight,” Sam said, introducing themselves to the sheriff. “Our badges are on the way in the mail. Right now we’re here for-”

“On the way in the mail isn’t a thing,” Harry said, stepping towards them, a hand resting on his gun. He hoped he wasn’t wrong, but he’d applied to the FBI at one point in his life, and he’d done extensive research beforehand. Them turning him down had not been a high point of his life. “Now tell me who you are, or I’m calling dispatch to find out the truth.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, that miniscule look representing a plan so that, if it came to a fight, they would move in sync. They were saved by Marty, who looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle. “I called them,” he said, kicking the floor. “The victim sounded like something my uncle saw once… heart ripped out. I just… I know it’s not real, but I wanted to be sure.”

Harry eyeballed the three of them, at a loss to where the conversation was headed. “What did your uncle see?”

“Werewolf.” Marty’s voice came out in a tiny, sad squeak.

There was silence in the hall for a moment, and then Harry gestured at the not-feds. “And you called them about the werewolf problem. And they’re not FBI, to be sure?”

There was silence, and then Marty nodded slowly, flinching at the sudden mental image of his boss screaming at him for being a total idiot and calling in unqualified strangers to deal with a murder. This was it. He’d be back home in his mom’s apartment, playing video games and hoping that someday his big break would come, as a writer or a Broadway singer or something unlikely like that. Who was he to think he could be a cop? He was just a scrawny kid who wanted a cute boyfriend and a cute home and a cute life. He wasn’t cut out for the hardened life of a mountain cop.

And yet, now Sheriff Baldwin was laughing? Was he laughing at the idea of firing Marty, because he couldn’t deal with that.

“Kid, there’s a lot you have to learn about this place,” he said, clapping a hand to Marty’s shoulder. Then he turned to Sam and Dean. “Whatever you guys are here to do, we don’t need it. This is an internal affair. The wolves haven’t killed any human in hundreds of years.”

“We’re here now.” Sam glanced at Dean, then looked at the sheriff again. “And the victim is a clear werewolf kill. Even if the ones you know are the good guys, it doesn’t mean one hasn’t gone rogue, or a new one hasn’t showed up.”

There was silence in the hall for a moment, and then Sheriff Baldwin narrowed his eyes. “You guys mean you’ve dealt with this crap before?”

At their twin nods, he sighed. Maybe the help would be good. If not, he could always bag them for impersonating FBI agents. “Fine. Step into my office, and I’ll tell you what I know so far.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as they learned the general town history, it had been agreed that Sam and Dean would go visit the werewolf settlement, and see if they could learn anything more from Melissa. Harry wasn’t sure that he trusted these two: there was something off about them. It was as though neither of them quite seemed to belong to the world, like they were above it, dealt in a higher plane of existence. Or maybe it was just his not-werewolf side talking. He had no idea that they spent most of their time dealing with angels and demons. If he had known that, he probably would have an entirely different opinion.

“We should bring the kid,” Dean said as they headed back out to the car. Harry had told them to ditch the suits, as they didn’t need to bring attention to the fake feds, and they would meet at the trail head to the nearest hunting cabin in an hour.

Sam glanced over at Dean, mouth slightly open in surprise. This was the first time that Dean was the one suggesting to bring Jack with them. It was progress, he decided. Very, very good progress.

Not that he wasn’t still worried about Dean. The ever-present flask was still in his pocket, and more often than not, Sam caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath at earlier and earlier times in the day. He refused to speak about Castiel, and, while the threats to kill Jack were coming at lesser and lesser frequency, Sam was almost certain that he still considered the boy to be the reason Castiel was dead.

But Jack was trying, and Dean appreciated effort, and he appreciated the occasional time that Jack proved his loyalty, bailing them out with angel mojo that seemed to come and go whether Jack wanted it to work or not.

And now, for the first time, it was Dean that suggested Jack come along.

“Why?” Sam asked carefully. He didn’t want to sound too excited, in case Dean got embarrassed and went back on the suggestion.

“Kid was bugging me about going to the woods earlier,” he said, shrugging dismissively as he slid into the driver’s seat. “Figured we could kill two birds with one stone. Teach him some werewolf crap and let him see his grandpop’s creation or whatever.” He fell silent, falling into the memory of the last person who had gotten this excited about seeing a stupid animal. Castiel and goddamn guinea pigs. Jack and the fucking bears.

Sam nodded. He had to tread carefully here, or Dean would say screw it and make Jack wait in the motel room for the rest of the case. “Yeah. Sounds like a good idea then.” He didn’t add anything to that, but he had to look away so Dean wouldn’t see his smile. Maybe, just maybe, Dean was on the mend. Maybe there was a light at the end of the endless tunnel of his grief.

They arrived back at the motel in short order, heading back to the room to change. Sam drew Jack aside when Dean was in the bathroom. “Remember how you wanted to go hiking earlier?”

Jack’s face lit up before Sam could even finish the statement. “Thank you, Sam,” he said, formality hiding his excitement. It was written all over his face though. “I want to see the bears. But I won’t try to touch them,” he was quick to add.

Sam patted his shoulder, and then went to change from his suit into his jeans. Dean was taking too long in the bathroom, so he simply half turned away from Jack to change, not quite sure what one wore for hiking. Jeans and sneakers, he supposed, though all he had were his work boots, which were still splattered with blood from the last case. He sighed and knocked on the door. “Dean, you good? I gotta get the blood off the soles of my shoes before someone starts questioning us again.”

Dean shoved the door open and walked across the room, not responding. Sam hesitated. “You good?”

“Peachy,” he responded, and sat down, back to him, to lace up his boots.

Sam frowned, but disappeared into the bathroom to rinse the bloodstains off the rubber soles.

Jack, however, wandered closer to Dean. He was used to the older hunter’s mood swings by now, and his growing up in the midst of grief meant that he wasn’t sure what Dean’s normal personality was supposed to be like. He had the feeling, from Sam’s worried looks, that it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Dean ignored him, but his jaw clenched when the boy got closer. Jack recognized the miniscule motion and stopped, not wanting to get snapped at. Dean was like an injured animal in that way, he had decided. He snapped at everyone, at him, at Sam, at people on cases. And if he was like a wounded animal, then there had to be a wound to heal. His eyes narrowed as he considered the hunter. If only his grace obeyed him… he’d heard stories about angels being able to calm people or knock them out with a simple touch, but he had no idea how it was supposed to be done. He didn’t want to try to soothe Dean and hurt him instead, but it would have been so nice to be able to do something good like that.

And yet his grace was not subtle enough for peace. He could feel it boiling under his skin, sometimes loud as the ocean in his ears, sometimes soft and far away, an infinite depth of power that he had no idea how to access. In emergencies, when his people (his flock, perhaps?) were in danger, it obeyed him. But all other times, it seemed its own entity. He was Jack, and that was the Nephilim.

He wanted Castiel now more than ever. Castiel would know how to calm Dean.

And Jack had no idea upon how many levels that idea was correct.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, his boots laced, hair pulled back from his face in that little bun he wore when he went running. Jack bounded closer to him, grinning, leaving Dean to sulk. “Are you coming hiking too?”

“We’re all going.” Dean got up, and he was shoving the flask back into his pocket. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, but he didn’t comment on it. “Gotta go disband a bunch of werewolf zealots out in the woods. Might help to have some godsquad power on our side.” He headed towards the door, not waiting to see if either of them were following.

 

_A little bit later_

It was a beautiful day for a hike. The car abandoned at the deepest hunting cabin, the three men and the single Nephilim hiked down the path that led to the wolf settlement. There were no bears out in the middle of the day, but the occasional deer eyeballed them from the trees, and squirrels and chipmunks scrambled through the leaf litter.

Jack was excited as a puppy. He’d tried to be serious at first, catching Dean’s bag when the older hunter tossed it and carrying it, taking his job as packhorse with grave demeanor. But then he’d stepped on one crunching brown leaf on the head of the trail. The Winchesters and Sheriff Baldwin had kept walking, and Jack had stepped on another leaf. That little smile spread across his face when it crunched, and then, in his rush to keep up with the three men, he’d stepped on every leaf he could.

Dean didn’t look, when he’d heard the kid’s laugh, but steeled his expression and marched on, imagining the feeling of his blade going through a werewolf chest. Jack was taking far too much joy in this march down the narrow forest trail. This wasn’t a pleasure hike, this was business. It didn’t matter that the trees were painted in shades of gold and ruby, or that the wind blew a pleasant coolness, or that there was a trophy buck currently stalking the Nephilim, hoping for notice from the holy being. It didn’t matter that Castiel would have enjoyed the moment. Jack was not Castiel. Jack was some dumb kid.

And then, Jack was gone. When there was no more crunching, Sam looked back, suddenly worried. The boy had been laughing at the leaves a moment before; had something taken him?

No. When Sam looked around, he found that Jack was standing stock still, a hand outstretched, Dean’s bag forgotten on the ground. A buck was snuffling the boy’s fingers, a few red and yellow leaves caught in his antlers. Jack had forgotten his promise to not touch the wildlife, instead holding perfectly still, letting the deer get closer.

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, and held a finger to his lips, pointing. Dean stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at the almost Biblical scene of an angel and a creature of God.

It licked his outstretch hand and hoofed at the ground once, and then, ever so slowly, Jack reached for the beast’s neck. It shook its head when he touched the fur, nearly knocking Jack with an antler, and then grunted at him, letting him continue. He beamed, stepping forward to pet the creature with both hands, running his fingers over its face and neck while it snuffled and leaned into his touch.

The sheriff stopped when he realized his visitors weren’t with him, and turned to see. “Well, lookit that!” He threw an arm out to gesture towards Jack and the deer. “That kid has a way with the animals, huh?”

At his loud, human voice, the buck bolted, nearly smacking Jack again in the scramble to get away. Jack watched it go, still smiling, then looked back at them, realizing he was being stared at. He ducked, cheeks tinged red, and scooped up Dean’s bag again. “I didn’t mean to pet the wild animal,” he said to Sam, apologetic.

Sam blinked, then shook his head. “No, no. Um. That’s fine. I think it came to you anyways.”

Harry walked over to the boy. “Check for ticks,” he said, pulling Jack’s sleeves up to inspect his wrists and elbows. “They’re horrible this time of year. Don’t need you catching Lyme disease.”

“I don’t think that’s really a worry for him,” Sam said. Jack didn’t mind though, letting the cop inspect his skin.

“Oh, there’s one. Careful.” Harry reached out to flick the small black spider-like bug off Jack’s neck. “Nasty little buggers. You guys have bug spray?”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

Harry sighed and started fishing through his bag for the Deep Woods Off. “Tourists.”

Another little bit later

“Once again, we could have sent out an ATV for you guys,” Charlotte said, leading them into the town. “Did you tell Alpha you were coming? Who are they?” She nodded at the three.

“They’re here to help.” Harry led them towards Melissa’s cabin. “They’ve dealt with stuff like this before, and I figured since they were here, we may as well put them to use.”

Sam held out a hand. “I’m Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and our youngest brother, Jack. We’re hunters.”

Charlotte ignored the hand. Her green eyes took on a yellow tint. “Hunters?”

Sam awkwardly dropped his hand. “We’re here to help,” he assured her, before she could get the fangs and claws out as well. “We’ve met other werewolves who are good guys… our buddy Garth is a werewolf.” He felt awkward, like he was trying to convince her that she wasn’t racist and only digging himself into a deeper hole.

Her eyebrows furrowed, memorizing their faces, but then she took a breath. If she were to be Alpha after Melissa, she would need to learn to school her emotions; it didn’t matter that she had watched a hunter take out her parents while she narrowly escaped with her little brother, eventually coming to this settlement. That had been a different hunter, in a different time. They were safe now, and she had to grow from the past, rather than letting it define her.

And that meant not ripping out the throats of Sam and Dean.

And if the only thing preventing her from taking revenge was the fact that Jack looked like an innocent little baby who didn’t deserve to watch his older brothers die, well, that didn’t matter.

But if they made one wrong move…

“Melissa’s here,” she said as her eyes melted back into their normal color. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do now though… the boys are gone, and so’s the weird religious guy.”

“They’re in the forest.” The door slammed as Melissa strode down the steps, wearing a Carhartt jacket with jeans and work boots. Her fangs glinted in the light. “And tonight they’re making their move. We need to stop them now.”

“How do you know?” Dean fell into step beside her. “Did they take anyone?”

“Another child.” Melissa’s eyes were wide and yellow. “A little girl. Carolina.”

Without another word, she transformed, exploding into an unstoppable wave of claw and fang that vanished into the trees.

A few miles away, tied up in the forest

Carolina, the small girl who had proven herself the bane of bullies on the soccer field earlier, was not afraid. She was tied up, yes, and the man was talking about raising wolf gods from the distant past, and she was pretty sure he was crazy, but she was not afraid.

Brent and Darren were guarding her, pacing back and forth in full wolf form, snarling if she even breathed too loud. She had always hated them. They were the worst of the bullies, cowardly and idiotic, and Carolina wanted nothing more than to beat their asses.

But the ten-year-old had a reputation as a scrapper, and when they spat on her best friend or kicked down her second-best friend, it was only when she wasn’t around.

It gave her a little thrill of glee that she was considered scary enough that the older boys avoided her. Even now, they were sure to keep her tied up so that she couldn’t escape, but they refused to tell her why they’d kidnapped her. When she’d asked one too many times, the stranger had hit her across the face, so hard that she had spat blood. Her eyes had watered from the pain, but she refused to cry out.

She was a wolf. She was a daughter of the forest, and she would not be afraid of a couple stupid mutts.

So she had bided her time, listening, and she had learned many things that proved a great test to her stoicism.

The child who had died was not of their settlement, but rather had been taken from the last place the stranger had visited, where he had tried to enact his plan. He had dragged the child with him, and when he arrived here, had sacrificed the child in the very spot Carolina was now tied, purifying the area.

Carolina didn’t think the area was purified. She thought it was tainted. She had been hit again when she’d defiantly announced that, and this time she had spat the blood right in the stupid stranger’s face.

He had announced that his name was Ulric Erikson, and that he was the last true priest of Fenrir. He had been about to go into his entire backstory in a dramatic villain’s speech, but Carolina had stopped him by screaming, “Nobody cares, you dumb slut!”

Carolina didn’t know exactly what “slut” meant, but, ironically enough, she had first heard the phrase from Darren.

“The great god Fenrir will rise,” Ulric had hissed in her face. “And you will find your place in the new world order, you little whore. Now remain silent!” With another smack that left her head spinning, he’d stalked off, presumably to gather supplies for his plan later that night.

“No wonder you were run out of that other place,” Carolina had said, but the hit did quiet her a bit, though the quick healing of a werewolf took care of any lasting damage.

Now she was ready to make her escape. Her claws had made short work of the ropes, though she kept her hands behind her back like she was still tied up.

Technically, she could run. She knew that she could bolt and scale a tree and the boys would never find her. But they were talking about summoning a giant monster from the olden days, and that wouldn’t fly.

These were Carolina’s woods. These were Carolina’s mountains. And this was her moment. This was her time to be a hero. So she would bide her time, and then, like the wolf she was, she would strike.

But before she had time to make a plan, there was a howl and a snarl. Darren and Brent both perked their ears, sniffing in the direction of the sound. A growl rose from Darren’s chest.

And then there were more snarls, and the crackling of branches, and two wolves rolled into the clearing, snarling and growling. Carolina’s eyes went wide and she pressed herself flat to the tree she was tied against, flinching as blood splattered her face.

The fight didn’t even last twenty seconds. A scream cut to a gurgle and Charlie’s body, limp on the ground, reverted to a human boy with his throat ripped out. Melissa straightened, looking between Darren and Brent. “Where is Erikson?”

They exchanged looks, backing up. “He’s… we don’t know. He went… you killed Charlie…” Darren was shaking, fangs vanishing. “You killed Charlie,” he repeated, eyes wide and human. “You killed-“

“I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me where that murderous bastard is,” she growled, stalking forward. Her face, twisted and animal, was splattered red. “He has already killed one child, and he will kill again if we don’t stop them.”

Carolina pressed herself to the tree, fingers digging into the bark, mouth open.

A pregnant silence hung in the clearing, permeated with the smell of Charlie’s blood gently flowing into the soil.

And then Darren and Brent turned tail and ran. Neither was ever seen again by the people or wolves of Fairpoint.

Melissa watched them, breathing hard past wolfish fangs, and then turned towards Carolina. “Oh my child,” she whispered, stepping towards the girl. Bloodstained fingers stretched out.

Carolina screamed and ran.


	5. Chapter 5

The Winchesters had followed the werewolf leader.  Dean had barked a quick order at Jack to stay with the sheriff.  He was fine with that, he supposed.  Sam and Dean knew what they were doing.  But he had a feeling, in the pit of his stomach, that he was needed elsewhere.  It was an odd feeling.  Very compelling.  Jack didn’t ask the sheriff about it, mostly because he didn’t know the sheriff at all, and a bit because he didn’t think it was a human feeling. 

It was definitely the Nephilim part of him, he decided as he thought about it.  It was a very strong feeling, like an invisible fishing line had hooked into him, and was trying to pull him into the forest. 

Somebody needed help. 

Jack didn’t know how he knew that with such certainty, but he did.  Somebody needed help, and he needed to be there.

Were an angel around to teach him, they might have said that he was picking up on a prayer. 

It wasn’t hard to slip from the sheriff’s watch.  He was still carrying Dean’s bag, loyal to the end, and that was the trickiest part, because Dean’s weapons kept clinking against each other, and when he tried to dart into the trees, it got caught on a thicket of thorns.  It took him a moment to free it, and he cut his fingers several times.  Each nick healed itself within a moment. 

As soon as he got the bag free of the thicket, he was free as well, to follow the odd, disembodied pull.  He had thought it would be difficult to find the source, as it was a feeling rather than something physical, but it was the opposite; the closer he got, the more vivid the feeling began, until it was overwhelming. 

And yet, as he turned a little circle, he couldn’t see anyone here.  He was standing in a tiny clearing of pine trees, and the ground beneath his feet was carpeted with fallen needles years thick.  Every footstep was silent as he turned in another slow circle, squinting into the thickets of branches in case he missed something. 

Something cracked- Jack looked up to see a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from the top of one of the trees.  Were it not for the angelic clarity of his vision, he would not have been able to see the girl (although nobody knew that Jack had clearer vision than most, because Jack didn’t know how other people saw the world). 

“Hello,” he called up, tilting his head.  He hesitated, then repeated the line the Winchesters used when people were scared.  “My name is Jack.  I’m here to help.”  He hoped he _could_ help.

The girl crawled out further onto a branch to get a better look at him.  There was no way Jack could get up there- the tree she on was bare of branches for twenty feet.  The only way she’d been able to get up was by climbing another tree to the small, unsteady branches and clambering across the canopy.  Even if Jack climbed another tree, he was too heavy to get as high as she was.  It was a very clever hiding spot, which would stop working as soon as she hit her next growth spurt. 

She sniffed the air as she looked down at him.  “You’re not a wolf,” she called down in a shaky, but loud and accusatory voice.  “You’re not even human.  What are you?”

Jack didn’t see the point in lying, since obviously her terror put her on high alert.  She would know.

Well, she would know because Jack was a terrible liar, something that Dean was quick to point out and Sam was quick to chuckle at. 

“I’m a Nephilim,” he called up to her, and then, because she looked confused, he elaborated.  “My father was the angel Castiel, and my mother was the human Kelly Kline.”  It was probably not the best time to get into the specifics about his paternity, he decided. 

The girl was silent for a long moment.

“You can come down now.” Jack dropped the bag, because maybe she knew it was full of weapons, and he didn’t want her to think he was a threat.  She was a little kid.  A little kid who was older than him, technically.  “I won’t hurt you!”

 “So you’re an angel?”  Despite having to shout to get her voice to carry down with him, it sounded very weak.  “Alpha says the angels aren’t to be trust-” Her breath caught in her throat as she cut off by her own emotion.  Who was she hiding from, but her Alpha wolf?  They were supposed to trust Melissa, and yet Charlie was lying dead on the ground, and he was only fifteen…

Jack heard the sharp intake of breath, and he narrowed his eyes.  He needed her to know she was safe now.  He needed to help her-

And suddenly he was in the tree, balancing on the closest branch that wouldn’t break under his weight, holding a hand out to her.  It was so sudden that he nearly fell, startled by the feel of his own metaphysical wings, but he grabbed the trunk to steady himself, ignoring the girl’s shriek of surprise.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said when he was balanced.  He couldn’t see it himself, but were another angel to look up, they would have seen six downy fledgling wings, barely tipped with Lucifer’s color, half unfurled to keep his balance as he stood on the branch.  “You don’t have to be afraid of me.  I’m here to help you.  What’s your name?”

She was staring at him, but at his calm voice, her eyes slowly changed from yellow to chocolatey-brown.  “Carolina,” she responded.

“That’s a state!” Jack said, delighted.  “We were just there for a case two months ago.  We stopped a witch who was crazy.  She told me she wanted to cook me in a stew because I was a kid, and actually had a pot big enough.”  His eyebrows furrowed.  “And then she tried to feed me candy, but I wasn’t hungry?  So it was weird.  And then Dean shot her.”

Carolina didn’t quite smile, but she looked a little less terrified.  “You killed the witch from Hansel and Gretel?”

“Hansel and what?” Jack asked blankly. 

“It’s a fairy tale,” Carolina explained, tilting her head.  “You don’t know fairy tales?  Didn’t your mom read them to you when you were a kid?”

There was an awkward silence.  “Oh.  My mother is dead.”  Jack looked away as he said it, down towards the ground.  He didn’t know what else to say.  There was nothing else he could say.

Carolina was quiet for a moment.  “I don’t got a mom either,” she said.  “She abandoned me when I was born.”

Jack looked up at her.  “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, the pair stood like that in the tree, two orphans finding that they weren’t as alone in the world as they may have thought. 

And then there was the crack of a twig in the clearing as Ulric stepped out of the shadows, sniffing the air.  His yellow eyes fixated on the pair of them.  “What’s this?”  A little smile spread across his lips, revealing fangs that glinted in the light.  “Two children?  This will certainly appease the god.  For he is a hungry god.”

Jack and Carolina froze, staring down at him as he stepped towards Dean’s bag.  “Is this full of silver?”  He unzipped it, and laughed as he rifled through the weapons, before kicking the bag away.  “You think your weapons can stop the god?” he called up to Jack. “You hunters don’t know what you’re dealing with.  Come down here, little birds.”

Jack bit his lip, and glanced at Carolina, before mouthing _stay here_.

He had no idea that she had heard the words within her mind as well.

And then a moment later, he was standing in front of the adult werewolf, wings folding back in.  “I think,” he said slowly, “that it is you who doesn’t know what he’s dealing with.”

And he sent up a fervent prayer to Castiel, thanking him that his wings had chosen to cooperate, because that was the coolest thing he had ever done and if Sam and Dean had seen it, they would have given him a high five, and it was like the awesome things that happened on all the movies he’d watched with them and it was so _badass_ -

The goofy grin on his face definitely ruined the moment. 

“Hunter mutt,” Ulric corrected himself, unfazed by the teleportation, and dove forward.  Something glinted in his hand.  “Let’s see what drugs your hunting buddies already have prepared for you.”

Jack yelped and jerked away, so the needle didn’t quite hit his neck, but sank down into his deltoid instead.  He pulled away, but whatever was in the Winchesters’ needle was gone, absorbed into his muscle, and he stumbled, staring at Ulric in surprise. 

Carolina’s shriek was audible as she leapt from the tree, transforming midair to land on Ulric in a tiny storm of tooth and claw.

 

_Across the forest, at the original clearing_

There was nothing to do for Charlie’s body at the moment, and the other two boys that Sheriff Baldwin had spoken of were nowhere to be seen.  The brothers exchanged a look, and then Sam walked over to examine the shredded ropes.  “Somebody was tied here,” he said.  “But it was probably one of the werewolves- I think these were cut by claws.”

“The kid, maybe?”  Dean prowled the perimeter, examining the scene of the fight.  It was clear from the damage to the low hanging sticks and twigs that someone had tackled Charlie, then pushed him into the clearing, where he was killed.  He struggled, no doubt- there was a clump of hair tangled on a bush.  “Pretty sure he was taken out by his leader,” Dean said, nudging it.  “Unless someone else has the same hair color.”

“Werewolves, man,” Sam said, shaking his head.  “Vicious.”

“That’s just how we are.”  Charlotte stepped into the clearing behind them.  Eyes yellow, fangs revealed, she was ready for a fight, though she wasn’t going to attack Sam and Dean.  If they were truly going to help Carolina, then maybe they weren’t as bad as the hunters who had killed her family.  “If Charlie attacked her, then she did what she had to do.”

She hesitated when she actually looked at Charlie’s body though. 

Vicious as she claimed werewolves to be, she had never actually witnessed one kill another.  Bloody fights, all the time, sure.  But death? 

“We need to find Carolina and kill Erikson,” she said, steeling herself against the scene of the carnage.  “Melissa is my Alpha and Carolina is my pack.”  Her voice only shook a little when she made her declaration, and then, resolve strong, she knelt down to close Charlie’s eyes.  “I don’t belong here.  I brought my brother here to be safe when your people killed my parents.  They took us in, and I’ll defend them to the death.”

Dean reached out to squeeze her shoulder, a wordless apology.  He didn’t know the story.  He didn’t need to know.  Innocents were always caught in the crossfire of the eternal war of human against inhuman. 

She tensed under his hand, but didn’t push him away.  Then she got up, and sniffed the air.  Carolina’s scent was too weak- the little parentless girl smelled like the forest anyways, for all the time she spent exploring, and while it was strong against the tree, it had already dissipated from the path she’d taken to escape. 

But Melissa was soaked in the iron tang of blood, and held the distinctive scent of the alpha wolf.  Charlotte pointed in the direction, towards the river.  “Alpha went that way,” she said to Sam and Dean.

It didn’t take long to find her.  She was limping.  Charlie had taken a bite out of her thigh, and though she’d tied a makeshift tourniquet with a strip of denim she’d ripped from her pant leg, it still oozed, the healing slowed by her refusing to remain still long enough for new muscle to grow.  She snarled when she smelled them, turning sharply.  “Hunters,” she said.

“They’re here to help, remember?” Charlotte held her hands up innocently.  “Do you know where Erikson went?”

Melissa bared her teeth.  “He’s gone.  His scent is weak.  Every time I think I catch it, it turns out to be nothing.  They could be anywh-”

Her words were cut off by a snarl in the distance.  The four of them turned sharply, and took off running, arriving at the grove of pine trees just in time to see Ulric throw Carolina to the ground.

Her tiny body hit the pine needles with a thump.  Ulric was bleeding from the face, and when he turned at the noise of their entrance, Charlotte gasped at the ugly wound- Carolina had gouged out one of his eyes.  The girl shrieked when she saw them, shrinking back from the sight of Melissa, like the leader would kill her too. 

“Take her home,” Melissa barked at Charlotte, who obeyed, bounding forward, the sudden change to full wolf giving her more speed.  She scooped up Carolina before the girl had a chance to protest, and then the pair was gone, vanished amidst the trees.

Before anybody could burst into action, there was the sound of laughter.  Jack was leaning against a tree, grinning.  “Werewolves can’t heal from losing a thing,” he said, making a vague gesture towards his own eye, and laughed again, sliding down to sit on the ground.  “Sammy!  Dean!  You should kill him- he’s a bad guy.  You guys are the good guys.  So… yeah.”

“Dude- are you high?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Jack tilted his head.  “Maybe?”  He didn’t look too concerned though. 

Everybody contemplated the Nephilim for a moment while he melted against the tree, staring up at the sky through the branches like it was the most amazing thing in the world, completely useless for a fight. 

Sam broke the silence, noting the open bag, revealing the open first aid kit.  “Did you dope him up with our morphine?”

There was a click and a bang and Ulric was thrown backwards by the bullet from Dean’s gun, blood spattering the trees behind him.  He snarled, the flesh already knitting back together around the bullet, and lunged towards Dean, claws outstretched. 

Dean met him, unafraid, slashing out with Castiel’s blade to take off one of Ulric’s fingers- he screamed and raked claws across Dean’s chest, drawing blood, then shouted a word.  Dean was thrown backwards, body cracking against a tree, even as Sam was already drawing his pistol; but it was wrenched from his hands by an unseen force, nearly breaking his finger. 

“I am the last priest of Fenrir!”  Ulric stalked forward, snarling, and Sam lunged to keep his body between the crazed werewolf and Jack, whose brow was furrowed as he tried to keep up with the action, like he was watching a particularly complicated movie. 

“And when you die, there will be no more priests.”  Melissa’s voice was a low snarl as she burst from the undergrowth, a wolf on the attack.

They met, and this time she didn’t give him time for his magic words.  They were tooth and claw, biting and snarling as flesh rent and bone snapped.  They moved in double time, triple, werewolf speed matched alpha to alpha. 

Sam stepped back, an arm out, ready to defend Jack.  Dean was already up, gun pointed at the fight, but there was no way to tell the snarling wolves apart.  They were both bloodied, vying for dominance, equally matched. 

“Get him out of here,” Dean growled at Sam, nodding at Jack, and Sam hauled Jack to his feet, the boy practically a dead weight. 

Fast as it had begun, the fight was already slowing.  The snarls were louder, and the pine needles were stained with blood as Ulric slowly gained the upper hand, biting and clawing at Melissa with abandon.  He had the strength of Fenrir on his side.  He was the last priest. 

There was a human sounding shriek as he threw her, and her body slammed into the bloodied pine needles, sliding a foot before stilling.  She pushed herself up to her arms, gasping as blood dripped from her neck and lips, and there was a horrible hissing noise from her neck at each gasp.

Ulric, bleeding from his eye and a dozen other wounds left by the struggle, stalked forward.  A blast from Dean’s gun, and then Sam’s, jerked his body, and he threw his hands out wide, barking out the single word to blast the two hunters aside.  Both hit the ground, hard.  Sam gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs.

He set his foot on Melissa’s damaged neck.  Her breath hissed from her broken windpipe, and her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. 

And then he put his weight down. 

At the crunch, Jack slumped back to the ground, head in his hands, euphoric high rapidly descending into a bad trip. 

Ulric let out a howl that echoed from tree to tree.  It was a cry of victory, announcing to the entirety of the mountains who had won the battle.  He had defeated the alpha.  And now, he was the one in command. 

Sam and Dean were on their feet.  Dean had abandoned his gun in favor of Castiel’s blade, pointing it at the high priest.  “Don’t try anything, asshole.”

Ulric looked between the three of them, smiling through his bloodstained lips.  “Oh, I don’t plan on trying anything.  I plan on doing.”

He was a blur as he wrenched the blade from Dean’s hands, slamming the hunter down.  Sam was upon him, sinking a demon blade into his shoulder, but he elbowed the taller man in the gut and threw the air from his lungs again. 

Another punch had Sam on the ground, unconscious. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_A few minutes later_

Charlotte’s blood boiled when she heard the howl. She knew exactly what it meant- Melissa was dead, and they had a new Alpha wolf. A new Alpha who had no problem with sacrificing children in the name of old gods, who had driven Charlie so far from the side of good that he had to be killed. And if Melissa was dead, then the Winchesters were screwed- no human could fight a wolf that powerful. There were no heroes left.

“What was that?” Officer Baldwin met her at the town line, his face drawn with worry. There had been no way for him to track them through the woods, not at the speed that everybody was going. “Was that someone howling? Mel?”

“Melissa is dead.” Charlotte pushed Carolina into the cop’s arms. “We have a new Alpha.”

“What?” Harry shook his head not believing it. “You guys were serious on that? You just switch your loyalty like that?”

“It’s the rules,” Charlotte said bluntly.

They weren’t the only ones who had heard the howls. The other warriors, precious few considering how few threats the town normally faced, were sniffing the air, looking worried. The regular wolves, commanded to stay inside until it was safe, were stepping out, looking in the direction that the howl had come from. They were under new leadership. Melissa’s orders were now moot.

“Charlotte!”

Charlotte turned away from Carolina and Sheriff Baldwin, towards her brother, a quick-footed twelve year old who held a particular talent with the soccer games the children of the settlement played. He had heard the howl as well, and now his eyes were yellow with fear, fangs nipping into his lip. “You went out with them! I thought you were killed too!” He bolted forward, and threw his arms around her.

She dropped her hands to his shoulders- he was almost as tall as her now. “It’s okay, Nicky. I’m alive. I’m alive.”

“We have to go,” he said, looking up at her. “We have to go now. That guy was crazy. He was talking to me earlier, but I thought he was just some rando. But now he’s killed the Alpha, and-”

“No.” Charlotte cut him off. “We’re not going anywhere.” He eyes narrowed as she resolved herself, and turned to Sheriff Baldwin. “Take Nick and Carolina and hide.”

“What?” He looked between her and the kids.

“What?” Nick’s eyes went big. “Char, no!”

“They took us in, Nick.” Charlotte reached out to tousle his hair. “They gave us everything. I’m going to help them. It’ll be okay.”

“Charlotte-” Harry started, but it was too late. The girl had vanished into the trees, disappearing into shadows lengthened by the coming twilight. Harry swore, and pushed the two kids into the arms of the other wolf warrior, Travis. “Watch them,” he commanded, and took off after Charlotte.

At the original clearing

Jack had been dragged along, weakly protesting, as Ulric carried the limp bodies of Sam and Dean. He couldn’t tell if they were alive or not. Normally he could sense their souls nearby, but the drugs in his system blurred everything, and he couldn’t sense anything, like he was blind, and he wanted to curl up and cry. But he couldn’t- Sam and Dean needed him. They had to be alive. They had to be.

“A pity,” Ulric said, dropping the two hunters to the ground, and nudged the body of Charlie with the toe of his boot.

Jack fell to his knees when they reached the clearing. Everything was spinning, like somebody had kicked the planet and sent it curving end over end. He reached out with shaking fingers to touch Sam’s neck.

A pulse. He slumped in relief, and then, while Ulric was still regarding Charlie’s body, grabbed Dean’s wrist. They were both alive. Unconscious, but alive. His breath hitched as he sent thanks to Castiel, hoping his chosen father could hear him.

But now he needed to save the Winchesters, and the world was spinning.

“What else can you do, mutt?” Ulric was looking at him, yellow eyes hateful and curious. “Can you bring this boy back to life? Can you call the god yourself? Can you summon fire from thin air?”

Jack shook his head, and then found himself falling backwards. It took him a moment to realize that Ulric had hit him, though he couldn’t feel the pain through the haze. All he could feel were pins and needles prickling up and down his skin. He lay there, cheek pressed to the soil. It was cool and peaceful. He could have slept.

A kick to his side. “Useless,” Ulric said, and began to drag Sam and Dean’s bodies himself, tying them, leaving Jack in his drug addled haze on the ground.

Jack opened his eyes when he heard the movement, but when he realized Ulric was only tying them, and not killing them, he relaxed. There was nothing he could do now. He rolled over so he couldn’t see the blood splattered werewolf man, and found himself looking at Charlie’s dead body instead.

The poor boy… he looked so young, bloody and without a throat. Jack studied him for a few minutes, memorizing the details of the corpse. It was so sad… it wasn’t fair…

He reached out and touched Charlie’s hand. He wasn’t sure why he did. It just felt like the right thing to do, so he followed his instinct.

His warm fingers made contact with cold, and it was like sticking a fork in a power outlet.

Ulric spun on his heel at the sound of twin gasps, to find one boy, pupils unfocused by illegal painkillers, sitting up next to another boy who was clutching at his throat, looking around. “I saw light,” he said, then coughed, clearing phlegm and blood that remained in the pipes of his now undamaged neck.

Jack studied him, a dopey grin spreading across his face. “Lazarus,” he said knowingly. Then he was distracted by a woodpecker a few trees away. The bird was blissfully unaware of the chaos on the forest floor. All it knew was that there was a bug within the bark of that tree. Jack watched, entranced, as the bird beat at the wood with a hardened beak.

Charlie looked between the Nephilim and Ulric, and then stood, spitting blood. “You brought me back,” he said, eyes going wide in awe as he realized the full extent of the resurrection. Then he fell to his knees. “You brought me back,” he repeated, gazing up at Ulric.

Ulric’s eyes flicked to Jack, and then back to Charlie, making a split second decision. “The power of Fenrir brought you back,” he said, and moved his four fingers across Charlie’s forehead, in a motion like claws, blessing him (the truth was that he had made up the motion on the spot, because in all his time trying to summon Fenrir, something like this had never happened before). “The god recognizes your loyalty, and he rewards you in turn. He is coming. Tie them.” He nodded at Sam and Dean, and Charlie, filled with the grace of the wolves, obeyed.

“As for you…” Ulric stood over Jack, who grimaced half-heartedly up at him. “You have power, hunter-mutt. You will make a fitting first meal for the god.”

“He can’t get eaten if there’s no god.” Charlotte stepped into the clearing, fangs bared. “And if I kill you now, there will be no god.”

Ulric shifted his gaze to her, and a little smile spread across his face. “Another sacrifice for Fenrir. He will be pleased when he arrives on this plane.”

Charlotte snarled, knees bent, ready to spring. “I am no sacrifice. I am a warrior.”

“Then your blood will be all the sweeter.” Ulric stepped out of the way of Jack, and held his hands out, palms up, like he was surrendering. “Or, perhaps, there is a greater fate for you. You are a strong wolf- you could be a strong mother as well. Surrender yourself to the god. Allow Fenrir to take you as his new wife. Whelp his pups in the new world order. You will be rewarded.”

Charlotte snarled and lunged forward, aiming for the priest’s throat.

“And your brother will be spared.”

She froze, almost sliding across the dirt and leaf litter, yellow eyes wide.

A slow smile spread across Ulric’s face. “Yes. I know, sweet girl. You are not from this land. Your parents were slaughtered, blood devoured by the earth, and you whisked your baby brother away, saving him and yourself from a similar fate.”

She was silent, her glare revealing that his words were the truth.

“Adversity makes us strong,” he continued, stepping forward. One hand hovered around her shoulder. “And you have seen the darkness, and survived. You are the strength that the future needs, and you have the ability to share that with your offspring.”

Her silence remained, but she was breathing hard. She wanted to kill him, needed to kill him, and yet-

“Strike me, if you will,” Ulric murmured, honey-sweet, as he moved a piece of hair behind her pointed ear. It flicked at his touch. “But if you disobey me now, Charles will snap your brother’s neck.”

Charlie, on cue, cracked his knuckles. It would have been humorous if not for the context.

Charlotte closed her eyes, breathing hard. He had the power to reverse death itself. “You’re disgusting,” she whispered.

Ulric slid his hand from her ear down to her neck, around her shoulder, over the soft curve of her ribs. “In time, you will find that you share my vision. This will be the free land of the wolves, and you will reign queen, your brother and children at your side, the honor of the god in your favor. It will be a grand new era.”

Her breath hitched when his hand reached her hip. She could see Nick in her mind, see him lying there, neck broken. Even if she could kill Ulric, she could see the crazed look of a follower in Charlie’s eyes, see the blood still splattering his neck. And if Ulric could resurrect Charlie, what would keep him from resurrecting himself?

She had made a grave error. She should have taken her brother and anyone who would listen and ran. They could have lived far away, somewhere safe from a priest with an insane vision. Even if they had to reintegrate into human society, they would have been alive, safe. Now… now there was nothing. They had lost.

“Charlotte!” Sheriff Baldwin burst into the clearing, panting from the run, and then his eyes went big as he stopped and contemplated the scene. “Oh shi-”

A handwave and an ancient word from Ulric sent his body crashing into a tree. When he hit the ground, he didn’t move. A hopeless sob heaved from Charlotte’s chest.

 

_At the same time, in Sam’s brain_

Sam opened his eyes to find himself in a familiar cavernous darkness. It still hurt his head to think about, but this time he steadied himself, looking around. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here. He needed to be back on Earth, on the case.

“Gabe-!” His shout was cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth.

“Shut up,” the familiar voice hissed, in a whisper.

Sam turned around, feet silent on the nonexistent floor, to find Gabriel standing before him. There was no surprise this time, no eldritch beast, no evidence that he was dealing with anything more than an average height man with gold eyes. “Shut up,” he repeated, glancing around, though there was nobody else in the dark. Then he stood on his toes, slid his arms around Sam’s neck, and kissed him.

Before the archangel even had a chance to open his mouth, Sam pushed him off. “Dude, what the hell?”

Gabriel stumbled backwards a few steps, head tilted, almost confused, and possibly slightly offended. “What?”

Sam stared at him, trying to comprehend what had just happened. “Um. Okay.” He held his hands up, looking around. He was definitely dreaming. He’d attacked the werewolf, there was a pain- he had been knocked out. “Okay,” he said again, getting his thoughts together. He was unconscious. This was a dream.

“Okay what?” Gabriel crossed his arms. “Look, Dream-Sam, I appreciate the characterization, but I’m dead and you don’t exist, so do we wanna get on with it, or…?”

Sam shot him a look. “Get on with what?”

Gabriel waved a hand in a circle. “You know, kissing a bunch, you tell me how you miss me and wish I would come back, rip off each other’s clothes, have a grand old time while the Empty watches all jealous that he doesn’t get any sugar from you too? I shouldn’t have to explain this. You’re literally, like, my dream.”

Sam stared at him for another minute. “This is my dream,” he finally said. “I just got knocked out by a werewolf.”

Gabriel opened his mouth, then his face went pale. “Oh. Oh. It’s actually you again. This… is awkward.”

“Dude, you’re having sex dreams about me? While you’re dead?” Even in the dream world, Sam could feel his face heat up. “That’s messed up.”

“Not sex,” Gabriel said hastily, backpedaling. “I mean, like, heartfelt talks, or whatever. The sex dreams are all for Thor and Kali. Um. You can wake up now.”

They stood, staring at each other. Sam did not wake up.

Somewhere else in the Empty, there was a noise, a stirring of nothing. Gabriel pressed a finger to his lips, suddenly still, even his breathing stopped. Sam looked in the direction he was looking, and suddenly he got the sense that they were not alone. It was as though the whole place was breathing, so slowly that it was impossible to be aware of, except on a subconscious level.

And then the sense was gone, and Gabriel relaxed, looking back at Sam. “It’s not like I don’t know you’re not into me, or whatever,” he said, lowering his voice as to not disturb… it. “I can take a hint. There’s nothing, no hard feelings, or whatever-”

Sam held up a hand, taking a breath to keep from blushing. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not happening. “Look, I’m in the middle of a case,” he said, deciding to think about the specifics of the dead archangel later. “Crazy werewolf is trying to summon the god Fenrir. Since I’m here now, tell me his weakness.”

Gabriel’s expression turned deadpan, but he pounced on the new subject like a starving man on a loaf of bread. “Sammich. Sammy-boy. Samsquatch. Did you not do your research?”

Sam closed his eyes. “…you’re not telling me you actually had a puppy.”

Gabriel threw his arms out in a little shrug, a sheepish smile on his face.

Running a hand down his face, Sam took a long breath. “Okay. Can you tell us how to keep your puppy from killing us all?”

“Depends.” Gabriel tilted his head and crossed his arms. “Will you come back and visit me? It’s so boring, just sleeping for all eternity. And your last visit was so fun.” He hesitated. “The real one, I mean. Not the dream ones. Which didn’t happen. I didn’t even have any fake dreams about you. What, you think you’re important enough for me to dream about? Get over yourself.”

Sam closed his eyes, letting out another breath of frustration as he ignored Gabriel’s rambling. He was starting to see the outlines of trees against the surrounding darkness. He was starting to wake up. “Do I have a choice?”

“Course you do.” Gabriel pouted, looking offended. “I’m not gonna keep you against your will.”

The darkness of the ceiling was starting to lighten into a deep blue. Sam glanced up, biting back a scathing remark of, you have before. There was no time for anger. “Fine. Tell me how to defeat him.”

Gabriel stepped forward and reached out to take Sam’s hand. “This’ll hurt,” he warned, and traced two lines on Sam’s palm, which met each other in a point. Sam grit his teeth- it burned like a hot poker, and when he looked, there was a shimmering rune, like a less-than sign. Even as he looked, the shimmer faded, leaving a raised, red burn. Gabriel closed Sam’s fingers around the brand, and as he held the hunter’s hand, the burning lessoned, until he felt no pain.

And then the trees burst back into being, and Gabriel was gone, and Sam was slumped against a tree, his mind suddenly going blurry with the concussion he’d sustained earlier.

 

_On the other side of the clearing, just out of Sam’s line of sight, at the same time as Sam’s awakening in the beginning of chapter 3_

Sam was awake. Jack realized this with a little thrill of relief, but the emotion only caused the pins and needles all over his skin to get worse. He made a little noise of discomfort, thoroughly over the high, trying to fight through it. While his grace was breaking down the drug much quicker than a human body could, it was still painfully slow, and he needed to stop the werewolf.

The fire was large now. It had sprang up quickly, probably with lighter fluid, and the werewolf was chanting old words, words that made the prickling worse. Jack’s grace was reacting to the old magic, reaching out, touching and tasting, and it made his head spin even worse. But he needed to get up- he needed to stop the priest, because he was evil, and whatever being he was summoning would kill Sam and Dean.

That thought broke through his sluggish mind like a hot knife through butter, and Jack clung to it, pulling himself to his feet. He had to stop Ulric- if he were a good angel, he could just smite him, but that wasn’t possible.

Across the clearing, there was a crack, and Jack winced in sympathy. Charlie had hit Sam, and once again, the hunter was out cold. Jack was alone.

He looked around for a weapon, and then his eyes fell on the angel blade Dean fought with. Ulric had stabbed it into a tree for safe keeping, no doubt to give to this god Fenrir when he came through the fire-portal- and he was coming. Jack could sense it. The dark shadow in the middle of the fire was growing larger and larger now, and Jack needed to end this before it began.

He took a deep breath, sending up a prayer to Castiel- help me, Father- and reached out to yank the blade from the wood.

It came out surprisingly easy, like it wanted to be in his hand- Jack stumbled, having expected a harder time of it, and then caught himself. As soon as he flipped the blade up in his hand, ready to fight, the world crystallized. Grace surged through his blood, burning the drug away, and though his hands shook, he could think once again.

One stab was all it would take. One stab into the heart of the one-eyed werewolf priest, and this would be over.

The shadow in the heart of the fire was growing. Jack’s grace prickled. He could sense the power there, coming closer. This had to be done now.

He was across the clearing in a moment, so quick that he wasn’t sure if it had been his feet or his wings to carry him there. Castiel’s blade was cold in his hands, a blade that had seen death, that drank blood like breakfast coffee, and Jack held it up, aiming at Ulric’s spine, beyond which was a beating heart.

The werewolf was oblivious, eyes closed, swaying with the chant like he was entranced. The shadow drew closer. Jack could sense it now, a wolf, far stronger than any here, carrying the aroma of ancient forests and distant tundra. It was a cold god, an ancient god, and Jack needed to kill to stop it.

He had never killed before.

The point of the blade shook.

He had seen death. Sam and Dean killed all the time- sometimes the Reapers smiled at him when they came for the souls. But he had never taken a life. He had never shot somebody’s brain out or plunged a blade into their heart.

The wolf god was close now, so close that Jack could sense his thoughts, ancient, primeval, blood-soaked. He took a shaky breath.

“Do it!” It was a shriek from across the fire, from the werewolf girl, but it only made the point of the blade shake further.

Ulric’s chanting rose to a crescendo as he threw his arms out. The flames burst upwards, towards the canopy.

Jack closed his eyes. “I… I can’t-”

And then it was too late. The fire fell, plunging everything into darkness, lit only by the full moon overhead.

Ulric screamed in joy, and Charlotte fell to her knees, tears shining on her cheeks. Sam and Dean were unconscious. The sheriff was… dead, though Jack couldn’t be certain.

And standing in the middle of the dead fire pit, shaking a sticky bit of burning ember off his paw like it was harmless ash, was a wolf.

Ulric stepped forward, arms outstretched. “My lord Fenrir, I have summoned you here for-”

Fenrir looked in his direction and he was silenced, voice vanished. The wolf-god’s mouth was open as he scented the air, and then he stepped around the priest like Ulric was a minor annoyance, golden eyes fixed on Jack. “So this is the little cousin I’ve heard so much about,” he said in a silky smooth, masculine voice. “And don’t worry about that.” He nodded at the blade still quivering in Jack’s grip. “I’m sure you already know that it won’t hurt our kind.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Yes, my lord, I see that you have found your sacrifice.” Ulric took Jack’s shoulders and steered him forward, towards the wolf. He appeared to have found his voice again, much to Jack’s chagrin. “He is powerful- a half human, half creature thing that will appease your tremendous appetite.”

Fenrir turned to look at Ulric as he stepped neatly out of the remnants of the fire, sitting on the ground. He wasn’t a particularly big wolf- Jack had expected something the size of a house, but the wolf was a tad smaller than a Great Dane. His coat was course and thick, a mottling of reds and grays like the wild wolves of Northern Europe. The only thing off about him, in fact, was the intensity of his golden eyes, and the intelligence in the way his dog-eyebrows quirked up when he looked at his high priest.

Ulric dropped to his knees under that gaze, and now his hands were shaking.

“Are you,” Fenrir said slowly, voice deep and melodic, “calling me fat?”

Ulric looked floored.

“Do you expect me to eat the Nephilim?” he asked, when there was no response. He walked forward, and pawed at Ulric’s arm, almost quizzically. “Are you an idiot?”

“Milord-”

“I’m going to kill you,” Fenrir announced, and turned back to Jack.

There was a sob from across the clearing. Fenrir sighed, closing his eyes in irritation, and then padded across to study Charlotte. “Why are you crying in my glorious presence?” he asked, head tilted, eyebrows raised. “You are a wolf, and I am a wolf god. You should bow.”

She looked up, and her tearful eyes were narrowed. “I will not marry you.”

“Marry me?” Fenrir blinked, then turned a circle. His tail gave one weak wave of amusement. “What in the Nine Worlds is going on here? No, don’t tell me. I can fill in the blanks. You summoned me, and to keep me from killing you, you gave me a snack and a lady lover?”

Ulric nodded, eyes cast downwards in humility.

Fenrir regarded him for a moment. “You think you’re worthy to summon me?”

“I am unworthy, my lord-”

“Yes. You are.”

Fenrir considered him, then turned to Jack. On all fours, he was shorter than the boy, but his body was lean and muscled under the thick fur. “Were you planning to kill him, cousin-mine, or shall I take the honor?”

Jack shook his head again. He hesitated. “Could you… could you heal Sam and Dean?” He shook himself free of his fascination with Fenrir, and moved to start untying Sam from the tree.

Fenrir tilted his head, ears pricked. “Sam and Dean Winchester?”

Jack nodded as he lowered Sam to the ground, and then moved across the clearing to start untying Dean from the tree as well.

“Well, this is my lucky day. I’m in the presence of celebrities.” His voice was scathing as he stood and padded over to nose Sam. As soon as his cold dog nose touched Sam’s face, the hunter stirred, opening his eyes. Even as he became aware of a pounding headache, it was soothed. He made an alarmed noise of surprise when he found himself looking into the eyes of Fenrir himself. “The celebrities that had my father so star struck that he sacrificed his immortality.”

 

_Eight years before_

It was a gathering of gods in the conference hall of the hotel, but for once, there was no fight, no arguing. The only noise, in fact, was a nymph sobbing over Mercury’s body- his mother, Maia, Fenrir realized, with a little prick of sympathy somewhere deep in his chest. What a good son, that his mother would cry over him, all these thousands of years later. He wondered if his own mother would cry over him. Angrboda had been a cold bitch, and considering that she hadn’t once come to visit when he had been bound on that desolate island, he doubted it.

“Jör and Sleipnir should be here,” said a voice next to him, and he glanced over to see that his elder sister had materialized from the shadows. Those shadows seemed to make up her cloak, an inky garment that hid her shape from head to foot. Only her mouth was visible, half lovely, half ghastly and rotted through. Fenrir could have stuck a finger through her cheek. In a lighter time, he might have.

But this was no light time. They were standing over the body of a smaller man, who had been thrown back against the ground. The outlines of massive wings were scorched into the wood.

“Well, they aren’t.” Fenrir was in human form now, for convenience as much as anything, all dark hair and leather jacket and brooding eyes. He had known the moment his father had fallen- they all had, he was sure. But it was hard to believe. Loki had almost died so many times, but seeing him here, this broken vessel surrounded by the vestiges of archangelic energy, made it entirely different. “Can you blame them?”

Hela knelt down beside the body, careful to not kneel on the burnt marks of wings. “Do his lies matter so much now?” Her voice was soft as she brushed golden hair from his face. “He is our father. They should be here.”

Fenrir shrugged, mind blank. Maia’s crying was growing louder. She would start rending her garments and tearing out her hair soon. “I was supposed to kill Odin.”

Hela looked up at him, head tilted slightly. Under her hood, he could see the glitter of one gold eye, and one white and blind.

“When Ragnarok came,” he said, “I was supposed to kill Odin. It was my destiny. Now he’s dead. For all his rune magic and scholarly blood mead, he’s dead.”

Hela glanced in the direction of the old man, and then looked away, moving to straighten Loki’s clothes, pulling his jacket to hide the ugly wound that had taken both the life of the vessel and the archangel inside. “It does not suit you to dwell on vengeance, brother.”

“And it won’t suit us to be around when Thor gets here to collect the old bastard’s body,” Fenrir said. He knelt down, not worried about marring the wing burns on the ground, and scooped his arms under his father’s limp body. When he straightened, Fenrir was almost surprised by how light Loki was, as his head lolled against his chest. Hela was silent, but she didn’t stop touching the dead god as her brother picked him up, keeping a hand on him at all moments, like she couldn’t bear to let go.

He looked down at Loki’s face, slack and dead. “Dammit, Dad,” he whispered under his breath.

There was a crash and a wail as the door to the deadly hall was thrown open. Thor was a mess as he burst in, red hair mussed, dressed in rough armor splattered in Jotunn blood, like he’d just come from a skirmish.

Maia didn’t move out of his way, and he nearly trampled her, blinded by his grief and disbelief. “Father,” he whispered, dropping to his knees at the body of Odin, reaching out. His hand hovered around Odin’s face, like he couldn’t believe it. “Father, no…”

Hela and Fenrir shrank back. Fenrir’s hold tightened on Loki’s body, like Odin’s bloodline would take even that empty vessel from them.

But Thor was oblivious to their presence, hands hovering over Odin, unable to touch, unable to prove to himself what his eyes and heart already knew. Angry, desperate tears shown in his eyes, and he drew in a choking breath. “Father-”

Hela was silent a long moment, even as Fenrir waited for her to whisk them away- there was too much vestigial magic around the place, too much energy released by the slaying of so many immortals, for him to trust his wings. Archangel wings, he thought blankly. They’d known Loki was an angel- there was no way that Hel, Jör, and himself were full-blooded frost giants of Jotunheim, as Loki claimed them to be. But an archangel? Gabriel himself? The Messenger of God?

He glanced over as his sister took a step towards Thor. “Hela,” he hissed, but she ignored him, stepping neatly over the wreckage on the floor, towards the new king of Asgard. Thor didn’t look up, breathing hard, hands shaking as he held them over his dead father, afraid to touch.

Lightly, without hesitation, Hela lay a small hand on his broad shoulder. Her sleeve fell back, revealing that the hand was not flesh and blood, but rather, dry bone. “He is at peace,” she murmured softly. “Valhalla welcomes him.”

A sob ripped through his body, but he looked up at her, blinking through tears. “Witch,” he whispered, like he meant to insult her, but it came out broken, and then he looked past her, to where Fenrir held Loki’s body. Silent, he stood, and took a few steps closer, reaching out.

Fenrir shrank back, and Thor stopped, giving the wolf a broken look. “I…” He looked between the two. “I am… I am sorry.” The words came out in gasps. “Loki…” He reached out again, pleading. “He was… he was my best friend…”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed. He could feel his teeth lengthen and sharpen. “Until your father destroyed him.”

Thor was silent, not denying it. He let his head drop, hair hiding his face.

“Fen,” Hela whispered, reaching out to touch his arm as well. This hand was flesh and blood. “We are not our fathers,” she said, voice a bit stronger. “Let their grievances die with them.”

“Witch!” This time, the shout came from Fenrir, who drew back from them both, clutching Loki’s body. “Odin destroyed our father! He murdered Vali and Nari and used their corpses to chain Dad and you would just forget?”

“I would not forget,” she said, shaking her head. “This is the beginning of a new era. Neither god is innocent- let their sins die. Remember the good they wrought. Carry peace into the fut-”

Fenrir snarled at the pair, and then vanished, one beat of his wings carrying him far from the place. He didn’t care about the chaotic energies tearing at his feathers, or the weight of his father’s corpse, or the fact that Hela, as ruler of the dead, could see wherever he landed.

He crashed, metaphysical wings torn and bloodied by the harsh magic, one leg twisted from where he’d landed on it wrong, but was oblivious. Loki’s body was still clutched in his arms, staining his fingers with blood. Loki was dead- Loki was dead and Fenrir didn’t know what the world could be without his father.

 

_Back in the present_

Fenrir was distracted from Sam by the sound of a battle cry and a blade sinking into flesh. As soon as Dean was roused, he had thrown himself across the clearing, wielding Castiel’s blade. He’d thrown his whole weight into the blow, a hundred and ninety pounds of hero slamming the knife into the heart of a god.

Fenrir shook himself, looking mildly annoyed as blood and silvery fluid stained his fur. “Would you like me to pretend to die, to make you feel better?”

Dean twisted the blade and wrenched it from Fenrir’s flesh. Blood spattered against Dean’s shirt from an artery that repaired itself even as it was exposed. “Like my cousin already knows,” Fenrir said mildly, watching the hunter struggle, “an angel blade will do no damage, for the son of an angel is even more powerful than his sire.”

“What the fuck are you?” Dean’s voice was a hiss.

“He just said. He’s my cousin.” Jack touched Dean’s elbow.

Dean nearly stabbed the boy in surprise, but he stopped the blade before it could pierce his flesh. “Cousin?”

“He’s one of Gabe’s kids,” Sam said, where he was standing. There was a bit of blood on his face, spattered from where Dean had stabbed the wolf. “It’s a long story.” He looked back at Fenrir. “I mean, I read about you. We knew your dad. He helped us out a ton-”

“You got him killed,” Fenrir’s voice was blunt as he looked between Sam and Dean. “I’ve heard about you both, as well. My father had a weakness for your kind.”

“Our kind?” Dean’s eyes narrowed, grip on the blade tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean. Hunters?”

“Heroes.” Fenrir’s gaze swung between them, before settling on Sam. “You, in particular. You’re his type. That explains a lot, actually.” His voice was bitter. “Tall and tragic was how he liked them.”

“He didn’t like me.” Sam’s eyes went big, and he did not think about the two kisses now that he’d dreamt of as he glanced in Dean’s direction. “Trust me. I can’t even listen to Asia anymore without-”

“He liked you enough to die for you.” Fenrir’s lips drew back in a low growl, exposing long canines.

Before it could escalate, Jack moved between Fenrir and Sam. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, and then repeated, a bit slower. “I’m sorry.”

Fenrir tilted his head, confused.

Jack took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that my father killed your father,” he said, eyes wide. He could sense the wolf god, sense the boiling anger beneath the surface, and underneath that, a grief and fear that had barely been touched by the time that had passed. The emotions made the feathers of his wings stand on end. “Sam said he was a good person. And I wish… I wish Lucifer had spared him.”

There was silence for a long moment. Nobody had expected those words from Jack’s mouth. Nobody had expected an almost formal apology for Lucifer’s slaying of Gabriel. And yet, there was Jack, standing in the clearing, looking as guilty as if he himself had killed the archangel.

There was a growl low in Fenrir’s throat. “You think you can simply apologize, boy?”

“I thought-”

“Satan killed Loki.” He stalked forward, teeth bared. Sam grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him back. The boy resisted, trying to shake Sam off, trying to make this thing right. Fenrir was in his face now, close enough to rip out his throat. And nobody knew what would happen if the god-angel attacked the human-angel, if Fenrir’s fangs would be more effective than an angel blade. “And you are Satan’s abomination of spawn, cousin-mine.”

Across the clearing, there was a shriek turned into a snarl, and Charlotte, full wolf, threw herself at Fenrir, knocking him aside. He was unfazed by the attack, letting the roll take him back to a standing position, then slammed his full weight against her, knocking her off. She snarled again, back on her feet before she’d hit the ground, and there was a gunshot, and a yelp of surprise from Fenrir as his head was whipped to the side by a pure silver bullet meeting his skull.

He looked confused for a moment, frontal lobe ripped, blood dripping down his jaw and staining his teeth red, and two more bullets sank into him, knocking him over. Jack shouted in dismay, tried to wrench forward, but Sam held him tight, and, in a parental moment that he would later deny, covered the struggling boy’s eyes as Charlotte leapt forward to tear the throat of the god.

It didn’t kill him. He snarled once- the bullet wounds were already healing, synapses reconnecting- but the snarl was cut off by her teeth. “Get out,” she hissed, spitting blood and fur. “Leave this place.”

She stood there, half on top of him, and they were frozen, the old wolf and the young. His throat was already healing, tubes reconnecting, skin covering open meat. He could have attacked her, could have thrown her back with a wave of magic or torn her to pieces like the wild animal that he was.

But instead, when his throat healed, he threw her off, and leapt across the clearing.

Ulric Erikson didn’t even have time to scream, and the god was gone, leaving only the fading smell of ozone and the pathetic gurgling of air through a fatally torn throat.

 

_A few minutes later_

Harry had completely missed everything. He opened his eyes blearily to find himself being cut down from a tree by one of the Winchesters- Dean, he thought, but couldn’t remember which was which. Ulric was dead. Charlotte was covered in blood. And the boy they’d had with them, Jack or John, was quiet, almost despondent, and ignoring any attempts by the other Winchester to talk.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said as Harry fell to the ground. “You missed a lot.”

“Check and make sure he’s not concussed,” Sam called from across the clearing, before turning back to the kid, voice calm. “Jack, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Jack just shook his hand off his shoulder, brooding.

Dean vanished into the woods, and Charlotte came up to him. “Are you okay?” Her face was covered in blood, and Harry quickly put two and two together, realizing how Ulric’s throat had been torn, oblivious to the fact that he’d been in the presence of a pagan god. “I told you to stay behind.”

“I wasn’t going to stay behind,” he said, shaking his head. “Not when you were in danger.” His eyes flicked to Ulric’s body again. “Shit. This is going to be messy. We’ll need to hide him…”

Dean returned a moment later with his bag, tossing it to the ground. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together and looking at Sam and Jack. “Next case. There’s a haunting out in Mississippi-”

“Dean,” Sam said, still resting his hand on Jack’s shoulders, despite his protest. “Maybe we should take a break, for a bit.”

Charlotte rubbed her torn sleeve across her face. “You’re welcome to stay here,” she said, looking between them. “There’s always room.”

Sam shot a smile in her direction. “We have a place somewhere else. But hey…” He walked towards her a few steps, then dug through his pockets, pulling out a pen and an old receipt. “By werewolf tradition, you’re the pack leader now.” He scribbled down a number on the receipt and handed it to her. The paper was stained in blood. “Call us if you need anything.”


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

_In the car, on the way back to the bunker_

Sam opened his eyes to find that he was standing at the end of a long hallway.  He was confused for a moment, but then he realized he could still feel the cold glass of the Impala’s window on his face, despite standing upright.  So he was dreaming again.

And yet again, it was different.  He had never seen this hall before, had never been in a place remotely similar to it.  It stretched long and tall, like pictures of cathedrals in Europe, and the roof was supported by great pillars decorated with ornate runes and tangled stone vines. There were statues every few pillars, solid works of art depicting what looked like Viking warlords, carrying axes and hammers.  When Sam started walking, his steps echoed into the cavernous ceiling above.  

He could hear talking, somewhere close by, but it was muffled like it was in another room.  An argument, though he couldn’t make out the words.  He could hear the voices rise and fall, both men and women, but, alone in the hall, he felt an odd sense of isolation.  

And then a door slammed, bringing with it a blast of chilly air, and there were giggles, both male and female.  Sam froze, ducking behind a pillar, and frowned when he heard the wet sound of kissing.  Slowly, feeling like he was intruding, he poked his head around the pillar.  

Both had come in from the cold- their noses were red and their eyes watered with the sudden warmth.  Chunks of snow fell from their coats as the man swung the woman up to press her against the wall, and she obliged, wrapping her legs around his waist.  Sam’s heart did a little leap as her skirt rode up- her thick winter leggings did nothing to hide the curved muscles of her thighs- and immediately scolded himself, taking a breath.  Now the man was kissing her neck, and she threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the vast room.  

Sam licked his lips, and moved back behind the pillar, taking a breath.  He had no idea what this dream was, but he was sure he was not supposed to be seeing this, and he wanted to wake up.  But even when he screwed his eyes shut and commanded himself to awaken, he remained standing there, listening to the not-so surreptitious giggling of the lovers a few yards away.  

“Somebody will miss us,” the man said, voice muffled by her neck.  He didn’t stop though, one hand supporting her, the other tangled in her hair.  “My father will see.”

“If your father doesn’t know, then he’s an idiot,” the girl said, moving her hands up under his clothes, to find the muscles of his lower back.  “Everybody knows.  Freya asked if she could book a threesome the other day.”

The man let out a booming laugh at that and nearly dropped her.  She slid down against the wall, making a yelp of annoyance as her many layers of clothes hiked up and snow fell down her back, cold on her spine.  Her wriggle to get back into position only made the man laugh more and return to kissing her.

She looped her arms around his shoulders, arching her back as she tried to fix her clothes.  “My tunic’s caught in my coat.”

“Let me fix it,” he said, chuckling as he moved one hand to the buttons.  She leaned up and nipped his earlobe when he moved, then moved her hands back under his clothes, letting them wander while he held her against the wall with his hips and undid her buttons with his hands.  Now his boots squeaked with every movement as snow melted and dripped to the smooth floor.  

Sam leaned against the pillar, out of their sight, eyes closed as he tried not to listen to their giggles and breathy words.  He couldn’t even run now, because they would know he was here, and he most certainly did not want to be.  He didn’t think he could run even if he wanted to. Now that he wanted to leave, the dream kept his feet anchored in place.  

And then he was saved.  

A woman came storming down the hall.  She was the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen- her locks of golden hair were pulled back in a thick, intricate plait that glittered with jewels, and her face was soft and loving, and her dress clung to her body, a sheer, shimmering fabric that left just enough to the imagination to be utterly tantalizing.  

“Thor!  Loki!” Her voice, on the other hand, was a bark of anger and hate.

“Oh shit,” the man said, dropping the girl.  She fell to the puddle of snowmelt beneath their feet with a splash and a yelp of surprise.  

Sam froze.  Thor and Loki?  Oh-

He peered around the pillar again, but the man was far too big and muscled to be Gabriel, and the woman was- a woman.  

She was grinning, apparently unfazed at being caught. “Lady Sif!  How goes?  We were just out on a hunt-”

“Sif, babe, nothing happened,” Thor was saying to the blonde woman, trying to grab her hand, like there wasn’t a bright red bruise already blossoming on the other woman’s exposed neck.  

Sif, apparently, didn’t care for their excuses. With the strength of a goddess, she kicked the harlot, who hit the ground hard, jaw cracking against the floor.

Sam winced in sympathy, and peered around the pillar again.  

The girl spat blood, but she was still laughing, and when she looked up, her eyes met Sam’s.

They were gold.  

She stared at him a moment, brow creasing in confusion. Then she grinned, teeth red with blood. The hall flickered, and when it returned to being, Sif and Thor were gone, leaving the pair of them alone. Her footsteps echoed as she got back to her feet and abandoned her coat, straightening out the tunic underneath. “Enjoy the show?”

Sam bit his lip, looking around.  “Um…”

“Memories.  Wasn’t expecting you back this soon.  Just drifting.”  She rubbed at the bruise on her neck, and it vanished under her hand.  Then she stretched, arms above her head, cracking her back.  Sam looked away- this vessel was all hips and cleavage, curves visible even under the winter clothes, and her every movement felt dirty, like the beginning of an adult video.

He had a feeling that it was meant to be that way.

“Is this an old vessel then?” He asked, pretending like he was studying the runes on the side of the pillars.  “I never imagined you as a woman.”

“Mmhmm.  Like it?” Suddenly she was right in front of him, standing on her toes and reaching up to run a finger along his jaw. He gently pushed her away, and she pouted.  Her form flickered, and then Gabriel was the blonde man again, straightening his jacket like he’d been that way the entire time.  He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face. “How long’s it been in the living world?”

Sam blinked, still thrown by apparently witnessing the tiny slice of archangel memory.  “Eight years?”

He rolled his eyes.  “No, dipshit, since I last saw you.  Time gets all warpy down here.  Couple days?”

“Oh.  A few hours.” Sam looked around at the enormous hall. “What is this place?”

Gabriel looked around as well, and a little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  “Asgard.  Back in the good days.  I can change the scenery if you like?”  He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were sitting in the Impala, driving along a country road.  Gabriel hung an arm out the window, not paying attention to the where he was steering them, though Sam doubted it mattered.  

“Whatever you want,” he said automatically, looking around.  “I didn’t know you had this much power.  You know, being dead.”

“Oh, it’s easier here.”  Gabriel waved a hand dismissively.  “Don’t even gotta compensate for the laws of physics when you’re in a dream.  Long as I don’t wake up  _too much_ , we’re good.”

Sam watched the road.  It was a loop- they kept passing the same old warped tree, and when he started paying attention, there were other repeating details.  The same cloud, the same magenta and orange striped cow, the same bloating dead possum.  “What happens if you wake up too much?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “Dunno.  Something bigger wakes up, probably.  As Qui-gon Jinn once wisely said, there’s always a bigger fish, and if you wake it up it will eat you and use your wing bones as hollow tooth picks.”

“I don’t think he said-”

“So how was Fen?”  Gabriel took his hands off the wheel, but the scenery continued to move. There was no vibration of the engine, even though the sound was there, a sure sign that the car was an illusion. “You guys meet him, or did you stop the big bad summoner?”

Sam hesitated, not sure if Gabriel really needed to know the story.  It wasn’t like they’d had a choice in attacking the wolf- he had been threatening Jack, and Sam wasn’t going to let anything happen to the boy.  And apparently, as loud as his talk had been, neither was Dean.  

The grin slowly fell from Gabriel’s face.  “What happened?”

Sam ran his thumb over the mark the archangel had left on his palm- it had turned out he hadn’t even needed to use it, though he doubted Gabriel could take it back now.  “It was… not the smoothest meeting.”

Gabriel’s eyebrow quirked up as he waited for Sam to elaborate.  Sam sighed, and did so, skimming over the fight as to not be too graphic and anger the archangel, but the clouds in the imaginary sky still darkened as he recounted the summons.  “I’m sorry,” he finished, looking out the window.  “I don’t think he’s interested in helping Jack.”

Gabriel was silent for several minutes.  A few drops of rain hit the windshield, and then he ran his fingers through his hair again.  “Shit.”

Sam hesitated, then reached out and touched his arm in sympathy.

“I mean, that’s why I told you to find Hel.  She’s better at this stuff than her brothers. More sympathetic, working with the dead all the time.  But shit.” He sank lower in the seat.  “Are they okay?  I thought they’d be okay- I mean, I know they didn’t expect me to die, but they know I love them, and they all have their own lives…”  

“I’m sorry, man.”  Sam frowned, glancing up at the stormy sky.  “Can’t you talk to them like you’re talking to me now, or…?”

“This?  This is a fluke.”  Gabriel waved a hand to gesture to him.  “I figured you were doing something.  I can’t even talk to anybody else whose dead here.  Which really fucking sucks, because there’s a lot of people I’d like to have words with…”  He trailed off, running a hand down his face.  “What are you doing?  Can you share-”

“I’m not doing anything,” Sam said quickly, shaking his head.  That was… odd, to say the very least.  “All I’m doing is taking a nap.  I thought you were calling me here.”

Gabriel shifted, sitting up straight, suddenly focused intently on Sam.  “I’m not doing anything.  Not that I know of, at least.  And let’s be real, you’re hot, but if it’s a matter of who I want to see the most, it’s not you.  Sorry.”

Sam nodded, trying not to feel at least a little put off by that.  “No.  I understand.  No worries.”

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment, head tilted, eyes narrowed as he realized he’d stumbled onto a puzzle.  “I mean, I guess I might be calling you, and not be aware of it, but I’m relatively certain that if I were going to be calling someone, it would be one of my kids.  Or Dad, I guess, but he doesn’t give a crap about me.  Stopped praying to him ages ago.”

“So you’re saying you’re not calling me here.”  Sam looked down at his hand.  That was the only proof he wasn’t dreaming, that rune burned into his palm.  He hadn’t even gotten a chance to show Fenrir, but considering the reaction that the wolf had had to him alone, he doubted the rune would have made him anymore friendly.  “I know this is real.”  He hesitated, frowning.  “Unless this isn’t real, and I’m a figment of  _your_  imagination.”

Gabriel glanced upwards, and this time, in the shades of the car, Sam thought he could see a blush on Gabriel’s cheeks.  He pretended he didn’t notice.  “No,” Gabriel said, “I’m not saying I’ve had dreams about you for comparing or anything, but you’re very much  _you_  right now.  I can sense you.  You’re not quite here, but you’re here… like a shadow of you, I guess.  You’re definitely not here, but you are…”  His nose wrinkled as he tried to put the paradox into English terms.  

Sam hesitated a moment, a theory floating in his mind.  He didn’t want to say it, get Gabriel’s hopes up, and be wrong, but… “Have you ever considered that it might be Chuck doing something?”

Gabriel’s look was completely blank.  “Chuck?  The spy? I love that show-”

“What- no.  Chuck Shirley.”  He hesitated. “God.”  

Gabriel held a finger up in the air.  “Um, no.  For one, that dickhead is a prophet, not Daddy-o.  For two… have you read his books?  He can’t string a plot together even when he has visions about the plot. Have you seen how he writes me? Like I’m a complete skank.  He makes me have sex with my own creations, like, seven times.”  He threw a hand in the air.  “And my warning tape to you guys is written off as some funny plot twist.”  

Sam blinked.  “To be fair, it was a porno…”  He shook his head, dropping that.  “I’m sorry, Gabe.  He showed himself when the Darkness came back-”

“The fucking Darkness?!”

The scenery flickered as Gabriel lost control, and they were standing in the empty, cavernous space once again.  “The Darkness.”  He held his hands up, daring Sam to repeat it.  “The Darkness.  From. The beginning.  Of time.  Is. Back.”

“Well… it’s a long story.”

Gabriel’s fingers twisted into fists and he forced his hands down, closing his eyes.  “No, it’s fine, it’s all fine, I’m asleep, it’s fine.  Sam.  Sammy. Sam I Am.  Are you telling me that the Darkness, that my aunt, the one who shattered my fourth wing and made it get all weird in the cold  _to this very day_  is  _back_?”

“Well, she’s gone again,” Sam said, regretting that he brought it up.  “Turns out she and Chuck just needed to make up.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, and then gave Sam a sweet smile.  “Are you saying that the  _entire war_  that I was born into just needed a hug fest to end?  That the cosmic being I was  _created_  to fight just needed to make up with Dad?”

Sam fell silent, biting the inside of his cheek. The temperature was dropping now. The expression on Gabriel’s face was mild enough, but Sam imagined that if they were having this conversation in the real world, lightbulbs would be exploding, showering glass over their heads. Even now, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, like a lightning storm was coming.  

“I’m sorry-” he tried again, but Gabriel was done listening, pacing back and forth.  “I need to go back,” he said, his footsteps silent on the dark, bottomless floor. “I need to break out of this dreamscape, find my boys, and get back-”

“Fenrir is alive-”

“Nari and Vali, dickhead.”  Gabriel shot him a look.  “I need to find Nari and Vali, and take them back, and then I need to have some fucking words with Dad, because-” His voice broke, and he looked away sharply, suddenly still and silent.

Slowly, Sam reached forward to touch his shoulder. The muscle was tense under his fingers. “Gabe, I’m sorry… you shouldn’t have found out this way…”

“Well, what the fuck way did you expect me to find out?” His voice was rough, suddenly, and he refused to look at the hunter.  “Look, whatever.”  He ran his hands down his face, taking a deep breath.  “It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matt-”

“You stay the fuck out of it, Sam.”  

Sam stepped back, but he was used to people lashing out- Dean had been the king of lashing out lately.  Gabriel needed time to process, no doubt, especially considering all that had been sacrificed.  If Lucifer’s reaction to meeting God after being left in the Cage was any indication of archangel drama, then Gabriel was sure to carry that baggage as well.  Sam gave him a moment of silence, but the more distracted Gabriel became, the more Sam could feel the cold of the car window on his cheek.  And he needed information.  

He reached out again to touch the smaller man’s shoulder. “Gabe, I know it sucks right now, but I need your help again.  Jack needs to learn to control his powers.  Can you tell me how to find your daughter?”

Gabriel was quiet for a long moment, and then he half turned.  “She’s in Helheim,” he said.  “Land of the dead.  Down and north.”

“Down and north?  What’s that mean?”  Sam stepped back a little, giving Gabriel room.  Now if he squinted, he could see the interior of the car, and the road moving past. He was starting to wake up. “Gabe, c’mon.  Don’t be cryptic.”

“If I don’t give you all the information, you have to come back.”  The grin on Gabriel’s face remained ingrained on Sam’s consciousness even as the black faded into reality, floating in his vision like a Cheshire smile.  

“Hey, you good?”  Dean glanced over at him from the driver’s seat.  “You were sleeping pretty hard there.  Didn’t even notice when we stopped for dinner.”

Jack was quiet in the back seat, looking out the window, eyes distant.  The remnants of Taco Bell had been shoved into a bag that had been tossed at Sam’s feet. Sam groaned and rubbed his hands down his face, tired as though he hadn’t slept at all.  “So, Gabe’s still talking to me,” he said.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aite, that's the end of my werewolf case. Next part will feature killer clowns and a whole bunch more mythology


End file.
